O" 


THE  INVISIBLE  BOND 


THE   INVISIBLE  BOND 


BY 

ELEANOR  TALBOT  KINKEAD 


NEW  YORK 
MOFFAT,  YARD  &  COMPANY 

1906 


CONTENTS 


PART  I 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  ROGER  BOLLING 1 

II.  MARIAN  DAY        11 

III.  MRS.  BOLLJNG  IS  ALARMED 29 

IV.  THE  COTILLION 53 

V.  HEARTS  ABEYANT 67 

VI.  GOOD-BY 80 

VII.  MARIAN'S  SECRET 95 

VIII.  CIRCE 120 

IX.  THE  AWAKENING 145 

X.  JUDITH  ATTEMPTS  A  RUSE 158 

XI.  COLONEL  THEOPHILUS  HART 176 

XII.  IN  THE  SHADOW 197 

XIII.  THE  BAPTISM  OF  SORROW 209 

XIV.  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  SECRET 226 

XV.  FOR  His  OATH'S  SAKE 241 

PART  II 

I.  RED  ROSES 257 

II.  THE  LIGHT  THAT  LED  ASTRAY 267 

III.  A  DREAMER  OF  GOLDEN  DREAMS        285 

IV.  THE  FLIGHT 314 

V.  A  LETTER        333 

VI.  THE  UNEXPECTED 347 

VII.  IN  WHICH  ROGER  COMES  INTO  His  OWN       .     .     .  362 

VIII.  SIBYL 369 

IX.  THE  INVISIBLE  BOND 381 

X.  THE  FATE  OF  FRANCIS  WALLER 395 

XI.  IN  WHICH  Two  PERSONS  RECEIVE  A  SHOCK        .     .  404 

XII.  AUCASSIN  AND  NlCOLETE 413 

XIII.  THE  GODS  ARE  JUST 436 

XIV.  ROGER  AND  SIBYL 453 

XV.  THE  STOOP  OF  THE  SOUL 466 

XVI.  TIME'S  WHEEL 482 

XVII.  THE  APRIL'S  IN  HER  EYES        497 

vii 


PART  I 
THE  ROSE-MESH  OF  THE  FLESH 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 
CHAPTER  I 

ROGER   BOLLING 

T  TE  seemed  a  mere  boy  as  he  dashed  into  the 
•*•  •••  waiting-room  at  the  station  —  the  incarnation 
of  eager,  untried  youth,  of  boundless  hope,  and  un- 
daunted purpose;  of  that  which  made  him  of  a  part 
not  only  with  the  morning  of  life  but  with  the  very 
springtime  of  the  world,  the  music  of  Pan,  and  the 
sweet  mockery  of  illusion.  He  was  notably  tall  and 
straight,  of  fine  athletic  build,  with  a  hint  of  reserve 
force,  moral  as  well  as  intellectual.  Despite  his  gay 
good  humor,  he  looked  as  if  he  might  be  serious  enough 
on  occasions,  and  one  knew  him  at  once  for  one  of 
those  acutely  sensitive  souls  with  whom  feeling  can 
seldom  be  less  than  profound  and  effort  is  almost 
invariably  earnest.  To-day  happiness,  strength,  surety 
were  stamped  upon  him  as  by  an  impress,  though  for 
the  moment  his  smooth,  dark  face  was  flushed  and 
appealingly  contrite,  and  his  manner  betrayed  the 
nervous  haste  of  one  who  seeks  to  atone  for  an  omission 
by  an  excess  of  alertness. 

1 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

Simultaneously  with  his  cyclonic  entrance,  his  glance 
swept  the  room,  and  as  a  result  of  the  comprehensive 
survey  his  expression  quickly  altered.  He  stood  dum- 
founded  and  abashed.  The  place  was  wholly  deserted. 
He  caught  in  his  breath,  paled  a  little,  and  took  a 
hurried  step  forward.  What  if  she  had  come  and  — 
horrible  thought  —  gone !  He  was  a  trifle  late. 

But,  luckily,  so  was  the  train,  he  discovered  upon 
inquiry  of  the  sad-eyed  young  man  at  the  little  oval- 
shaped  window  in  the  corner,  and  there  was  a  brief 
interrogation,  the  replies  to  which  were  highly  reassur- 
ing. Roger  Boiling's  handsome  countenance  cleared. 
All  at  once  he  drew  a  deep  sigh  of  satisfaction,  threw 
back  his  head,  and  laughed  aloud  —  a  ringing,  boyish 
laugh,  assisted  by  a  certain  unconscious  charm  of 
manner  that  always  made  people  want  to  be  friends 
with  him  on  the  instant,  and  that  seemed  to  invest  with 
interest  his  simplest  acts  and  movements.  Then  he 
made  his  way  to  the  door  opposite  the  one  he  had  just 
entered,  and  emerged  into  the  dazzling  summer  sun- 
shine. Plainly  he  was  very  embryonic. 

He  had  found  that,  instead  of  being  fully  three 
minutes  behind  time,  he  would  have  a  good  five  minutes 
to  wait,  and  that,  far  from  proving  himself  delinquent 
to  his  trust,  through  a  merciful  intervention,  he  would 
be  on  hand  to  welcome  the  arrival  as  effectively,  and, 
if  need  be,  as  effusively  as  if  he  had  indeed  been  as 

2 


ROGER   ROLLING 

punctual  as  his  sense  of  obligation  and  courtesy  re- 
quired. However,  he  was  not  one  to  find  justification 
in  fortuitous  circumstance  of  a  neglected  act.  He  was 
taking  himself  soundly  to  task. 

There  were  only  a  few  persons  at  the  station,  and 
these,  like  himself,  were  evidently  of  the  opinion  that 
the  breezy  platform,  bordered  by  well-kept  flower  beds, 
that  stretched  the  length  of  the  building  and  afforded 
a  pleasant  view  of  the  Kentucky  skies,  was  a  more 
agreeable  place  than  the  close  waiting-room,  with  the 
loud-ticking  clock  and  the  dejected  clerk.  He  looked 
about  him  absently,  his  thoughts  busy  in  self-con- 
demnation. 

Rut  he  admitted  in  a  sort  of  half  apology,  and  not 
without  a  flash  of  humorous  appreciation,  that  the 
circumstances  that  led  to  his  defection  were  unusual. 
He  had  been  talking  over  a  very  important  legal  matter 
with  a  newly  acquired  client.  And  the  subject  had 
proved  sufficiently  engrossing  to  drive  entirely  from 
his  mind  all  minor  concerns.  Certain  it  is  that  his 
services  had  been  engaged  by  the  queer  old  yeoman  in 
baggy  trousers  and  broad-brimmed  hat  who  had 
entered  his  office  a  little  more  than  an  hour  before  for 
reasons  peculiarly  flattering.  It  was  a  tribute  both  to 
blood  and  to  brains,  and  the  young  man  had  cause 
to  congratulate  himself,  not  only  that  he  was  a  lineal 
descendant  of  old  Roger  Rolling,  one  of  the  most 

3 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

noted  of  a  group  of  really  great  lawyers  of  a  bygone 
day,  but  also  that  he  himself  had  gained  sufficient 
distinction  during  his  nine  months'  practice  at  the 
Lexington  bar  to  call  forth  the  pleasing  encomiums 
which  the  farmer  had  heaped  upon  him. 

"  I  heerd  you  speakin'  in  the  Co'te  House  long  'bout 
last  April  while  that  Simpkins  murder  case  was  on," 
the  man  had  remarked  affably  and  with  a  wink  of 
approval  as  he  shifted  his  quid  of  tobacco,  "  an'  I  sez 
to  Hannah  after  I  come  home  that  night,  I  sez, '  When 
I  seen  him  a-standin'  up  thar  so  tall  an'  slim,  sassin' 
back  at  them  other  lawyers  with  his  eyes  a-blazin',  I 
could  almost  believe  that  it  was  ole  Roger  Boiling 
himself  come  back  to  life  again.'  I  wa'n't  no  more'n 
a  little  shaver,  an'  he  wa'n't  no  more'n  a  lad  like  you 
when  he  appeared  in  that  great  case  o'  hisn  with 
Henry  Clay  an'  half  a  dozen  other  big  guns  on  t'other 
side.  But  he  give  it  to  'em,  you  mark  my  word,  he 
give  it  to  'em!  I  sez  to  Hannah,  I  sez,  'The  boy's  got 
ole  Roger  Boiling's  hawkbill  nose  an'  eagle  eye,  an' 
he's  just  bound  to  knock  them  other  fellows  out/  an' 
I  sez,  'If  I  git  into  trouble  with  that  widdeh  woman 
'bout  that  Ian'  across  the  road,  an'  it  looks  powerful 
like  I'm  a-goiri*  to  git  into  trouble  with  her,  whether  or 
no,  ole  Roger  Boiling's  grandson's  the  chap  for  me. 
I'll  bet  my  head  'g'inst  a  bucket  o'  beans  that  thar 
ain't  nary  widdeh  woman  in  the  State  o'  Kentucky  that 

4 


ROGER   ROLLING 

he  ain't  a  match  for.  He  ain't  got  that  hawk-bill  nose 
an'  eagle  eye  for  nothin',  so  that's  the  chap  for  me.' " 

The  old  farmer's  worst  fears  had  been  realized;  he 
was  in  trouble  with  the  "widdeh  woman,"  and  young 
Roger  Boiling,  somewhat  disconcerted,  it  is  true,  by 
such  high  comparison  and  commendation,  but  not 
without  a  due  sense  of  all  that  was  to  be  expected  of 
one  whose  hereditary  and  facial  distinction  was  so 
pronounced,  was  throwing  himself  bravely  into  the 
breach.  Had  not  the  farmer  finally  brought  the  inter- 
view to  a  close,  it  may  be  doubted  whether  the  ambitious 
fledgling  of  the  law  thus  encouragingly  appealed  to 
would  ever  have  been  reminded  of  the  promise  he  had 
made  —  which  was  to  be  at  the  station  at  the  hour  of 
eleven  to  receive  a  young  woman  who  was  that  day  to 
arrive  as  the  guest  of  friends,  but  who,  owing  to  a 
most  unexpected  complication  of  affairs,  was  in  reality  to 
become  in  the  emergency  his  mother's  guest  and  his  own. 

With  a  self-accusing  pang  he  recalled  Mrs.  Cald- 
well's  hurried  words  of  lavish  appreciation  as  the  little 
woman  stepped  into  the  carriage  that  was  to  bear  her 
to  her  train.  "Really,  Roger,  it  is  just  too  good  of 
your  dear  mother  and  yourself ! "  she  had  exclaimed  all 
in  a  flutter  as  she  clutched  wildly  at  her  glove  in  the 
effort  to  fasten  it  in  spite  of  the  resistance  of  a  very 
plump  wrist.  "And  it  is  so  lovely  of  you  both  to  try 
to  make  me  feel  that  you  do  not  regard  it  as  an  impo- 

5 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

sition."  And  then  she  had  added,  her  delightful  little 
lisp  especially  noticeable  as  she  leaned,  breathless,  out 
of  the  carriage  window  to  bestow  upon  him  a  grateful 
wave  of  the  hand  and  a  hasty  and  somewhat  bewil- 
dering description,  "  My  dear  boy,  you  just  can't  fail  to 
discover  her;  she  is  very  striking,  really  wonderful  I 
She  is  as  beautiful  as  a  statue  in  marble;  only  she  is 
not  like  marble,  because  she  always  makes  one  feel 
that  there  is  wine  in  her  veins  —  or  maybe  it  is  fire, 
and  she  is  tall  and  slim  —  not  so  very  slim,  of  course, 
that  is,  she  is  not  at  all  angular,  and  she  is  not  too  tall," 
with  a  complacent  lowering  of  the  eyelids  and  an 
innocent  downward  glance  at  her  own  small,  partridge- 
like  person.  "  And  she  has  curling  red-brown  hair  — 
splendid  hair  —  and  she  will  have  on  a  black  gown, 
a  little  shabby,  perhaps,  and  she  will  not  be  in  the 
least  awkward  or  shy." 

As  he  strode  up  and  down  the  long  platform  at  the 
station,  hands  in  his  pockets,  head  thrown  back,  face 
aglow,  Roger  Boiling  devoutly  hoped  that  at  least 
in  one  particular  Mrs.  Caldwell's  summary  would  be 
supported  by  fact.  He  felt  that  he  would  not  find  it 
hard  to  forgive  his  prospective  acquaintance  if  she 
should  prove  to  be  far  from  beautiful,  if  only  she  should 
show  herself  to  be  neither  awkward  nor  shy.  He  was 
inclined  to  be  a  little  ill  at  ease  himself  on  occasions, 
and  he  was  of  the  opinion  that  two  persons  in  such 

6 


ROGER   BOLLING 

plight  are  not  apt  to  render  things  very  agreeable  for 
either;  and  he  did  hate  to  feel  that  he  was  making 
any  one  uncomfortable,  even  when  conscious  of  not 
being  solely  responsible.  There  was  a  very  kindly 
gleam  in  the  dark  gray  eyes  despite  their  perspicacity. 
The  old  farmer's  delineation  had  been  drawn  mainly 
from  his  recollection  of  certain  pronounced  ancestral 
peculiarities  of  aspect  which  had,  it  is  true,  in  some 
degree  descended.  The  "eagle  eye"  and  the  "hawk- 
bill  nose"  would  not  have  been  altogether  misleading 
to  one  seeking  to  identify  the  young  man.  But  Roger 
Boiling  was  the  fortunate  possessor  of  that  particular 
order  of  good  looks  which  wins  easily,  and  from  the 
outset,  without,  however,  being  able  fully  to  sub- 
stantiate its  claim.  He  was  something  more  than 
handsome.  His  personality  was  unique,  and,  not- 
withstanding the  suggestion  of  immaturity,  even 
distinguished.  There  was  something  patrician  in  the 
way  the  fine  dark  head  was  set  on  its  shoulders;  in 
his  proud,  firm  step  —  in  gracious  keeping  with  the 
thorough  modesty  of  his  bearing.  One  knew  him  at 
once  to  be  a  man  and  a  gentleman,  with  certain  chival- 
rous and  obsolete  ideas  which  threw  him  out  of  his 
generation,  and  which  through  life  would  doubtless 
stamp  him  as  intolerant  among  those  to  whom  he 
should  be  something  of  a  reproach.  It  was  necessary 
to  study  him  very  closely  to  reconcile  much  that  seemed 

7 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

contradictory.  But  a  second  glance  was  not  needed  to 
discover  that  he  was  impetuous,  and  to  foresee  much 
of  the  suffering  that  must  inevitably  befall  him  through 
that  very  quality,  sustained  always  by  an  iron  determi- 
nation to  meet  existence  upon  the  plane  of  a  pure  and 
lofty  manhood. 

There  had  been  a  refreshing  shower  in  the  early 
morning  hours,  but  now,  at  eleven,  the  sun  shone 
intensely  brilliant,  the  more  dazzling  for  its  brief 
hiding.  The  air  was  like  a  cool  and  sparkling  bever- 
age, intoxicating  to  the  senses.  Roger  Boiling  drank 
it  in  with  that  keen  and  buoyant  delight  which  belongs 
to  those  whose  physical  side  is  not  only  sound  but  still 
predominant.  In  his  attitude  and  aspiration  he  be- 
longed to  the  youth  of  the  world,  to  the  period  of 
bounding,  joyous  physical  and  mental  life,  the  spirit, 
that  great  mastering  force  in  the  trinity  of  being  — 
the  power  which  gives  fineness  of  interpretation  to  the 
various  human  relations  —  being  only  rudimentally 
conceived  in  his  yet  undeveloped  personality.  He  was 
gloriously  happy,  in  spite  of  certain  vaguely  disturbing 
anticipations. 

He  could  not  have  told  himself  as  he  looked  down 
the  gleaming  car  track  toward  the  distant  stretch  of 
lovely  bluegrass  country  why  he  dreaded  this  meeting 
with  the  unknown  person  he  awaited.  Yet  he  did 
dread  it,  he  admitted,  with  a  certain  odd,  uncomfortable 

8 


ROGER   BOLLING 

reluctance  that  he  could  not  well  define.  He  only 
knew  that  he  wished  heartily  that  the  ordeal  were 
over,  and  he  pulled  out  his  watch  with  an  impatient 
jerk. 

In  the  same  instant  there  was  a  shriek  from  the 
engine  half  a  mile  away.  Immediately  a  general 
movement  took  place  among  the  subordinates  about 
the  station,  and,  as  usual,  inertness  gave  way  to  activity 
at  the  mere  approach  of  progress.  Porters,  newsboys, 
omnibus  drivers,  who  had  been  sleepily  waiting  the 
arrival  of  the  train  seemed  instantly  galvanized  to 
their  wonted  energies.  The  place  hummed  with  life. 
The  dreary  old  woman  surrounded  by  boxes  and 
bundles  began  hastily  to  gather  together  her  belongings. 
The  commercial  tourist  rose  and  stretched  his  legs, 
throwing  away  his  cigar  with  a  shrug.  Four  or  five 
laughing  young  girls  off  for  a  picnic  with  their  mascu- 
line attendants  and  chaperoned  by  a  pretty  young 
matron  in  a  light  blue  gingham  gown  and  rose-wreathed 
hat,  who  dropped  her  final  g's,  came  gaily  down  the 
platform,  making  no  attempt  by  a  lowering  of  their 
voices  to  exclude  any  who  should  care  to  Listen  to  their 
light-hearted  pleasantries. 

Roger  Boiling  stood  leaning  against  a  post  waiting 
with  a  nonchalance  which,  though  well  assumed,  was 
scarcely  an  outward  expression  of  an  inward  feeling. 
There  was  another  long,  shrill  whistle  that  echoed  far 

9 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

out  into  the  Kentucky  woodlands;  and  a  moment  later 
the  engine  with  its  immense  train  of  cars  came  snorting 
and  bellowing  into  the  station  like  a  great  belated, 
balking  beast,  half  ashamed  of  its  stubbornness.  He 
moved  quickly  forward. 


10 


CHAPTER  II 

MARIAN   DAT 

SHE  was  not  in  the  last  coach,  and  he  was  moving 
on  to  the  next  one  when  a  voice  spoke  at  his  elbow  — 
an  extraordinary  voice,  smooth,  controlled,  and  clear 
as  a  bell.  It  affected  him  strangely,  and  not  altogether 
agreeably,  in  a  way  not  unlike  the  impression  produced 
upon  his  senses  when  on  still  summer  nights  he  waked 
and  counted  the  strokes  of  the  great  clock  in  a  distant 
dome.  There  was  in  it  a  note  of  inevitableness  that 
was  at  the  same  time  both  a  summons  and  a  challenge : 
a  sort  of  serenity  of  power  that  could  afford  to  proceed 
without  haste,  and  that  seemed  to  ally  itself  with 
things  vast  and  irresistible,  the  might  and  the  surety 
of  destiny.  It  was  without  sweetness,  yet  it  thrilled 
him  with  its  concentrated  energy  and  force  of  sugges- 
tion. 

"  This  is  Mr.  Roger  Boiling  ?  "  the  voice  was  saying 
with  a  rising  inflection,  but  with  conviction. 

He  turned  quickly  and  with  an  alert  and  responsive 
movement  peculiar  to  him.  But  as  he  lifted  his  hat 

11 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

the  look  of  courteous  inquiry  on  his  features  altered 
abruptly,  just  as  if  a  flame  had  been  suddenly  swept 
before  his  eyes.  He  stood  quite  still,  and,  for  the 
moment,  it  did  not  occur  to  him  to  make  a  reply. 
But  in  the  midst  of  the  confusion  that  seemed  to  render 
him  temporarily  dumb  he  realized  that  the  detailed 
description  that  had  been  given  him  had  not  been 
heeded  for  nought. 

The  woman  before  him  was  tall  and  of  exquisitely 
rounded  proportions;  and  she  seemed  to  him  as  beau- 
tiful as  his  imagination  pictured  Helen  —  the  type  of 
the  ages  —  and  quite  as  mature.  There  was  some- 
thing dazzling  and  intensely  potent  in  her  personality, 
and  Mrs.  Caldwell's  crudely  contradictory  though 
graphic  comparison  seized  hold  of  him:  "She  is  like 
marble,  only  she  is  not  like  marble  because  she  always 
makes  one  feel  there  is  wine  in  her  veins  —  maybe 
fire." 

"  It  is  Mr.  Boiling  ?  "  she  repeated. 

Her  lips,  half  insolent  in  expression,  parted,  as  his 
eyes  met  hers,  in  a  slow,  peculiar  smile,  and  there  was 
a  certain  hard  brilliancy  in  the  flash  of  her  white,  even 
teeth.  Her  features  were  intelligent,  yet  they  made 
the  same  impression  upon  him  as  her  voice,  which 
both  repelled  and  lured  him.  He  could  not  account 
for  his  involuntary  withholding:  it  was  impossible  he 
should  know  that  it  was  in  truth  but  the  instinctive 

12 


MARIAN   DAY 

recoil  of  the  spirit  from  the  rose-mesh  of  the  flesh, 
from  that  which,  with  ancient,  savage  strength,  men 
in  all  generations  have  fought  and  bled  and  died  for, 
and  for  which  they  have  been  willing  to  barter  name 
and  fame,  and  sometimes  even  honor  itself. 

The  young  man  pulled  himself  together  and  rose 
valiantly  to  the  occasion.  She  was  too  completely  at 
her  ease  to  allow  him  any  excuse  for  awkwardness, 
though  he  was  finding  her  self-sufficiency  even  more 
disconcerting  than  any  shyness  on  her  part  could  have 
been. 

"It  is,  and  you  are  Miss  Day,  of  course,"  he  cried 
in  cordial  response,  holding  out  his  hand  to  her  with 
a  suddenly  kind-hearted  impulse.  His  eyes  had  fallen 
upon  her  shabby  gown  and  worn  gloves. 

"  I  am  Miss  Day,"  she  answered,  carelessly,  turning 
her  head  slightly  to  one  side  while  she  secured  a  hat 
pin  that  was  slipping  from  its  place;  and  his  gaze, 
following  the  action,  rested  upon  her  hair  and  became 
entangled  in  it.  It  was  quite  remarkable  hair,  as 
remarkable  as  Mrs.  Caldwell  had  described,  of  a  shade 
that  was  doubtless  a  distinct  auburn  in  shadow,  but 
now,  in  the  sunlight,  shone  aureate,  and  thick  and 
tawny  as  a  lion's  mane,  with  delightful  little  stray 
locks  and  wandering  curls  that  would  have  been  at 
variance  with  a  contour  bordering  upon  the  severely 
classical  but  for  the  full  red  lips. 

13 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

"I  thought  you  were  looking  for  some  one,"  she 
added,  with  a  laugh  and  a  shrug,  "and  it  occurred  to 
me  that  I  might  be  the  one  you  wanted." 

There  was  a  happy-go-lucky  way  with  her,  a  sort  of 
Bohemian  nonchalance  that  struck  him  as  very  odd 
indeed;  and  there  was  even  a  hint  of  condescension  in 
her  self-possession. 

"You  are  —  you  are  indeed  the  one  I  want,"  he 
answered,  slightly  flushed  and  disconcerted.  "But 
how  on  earth  were  you  able  to  pick  me  out  of  this 
motley  throng  with  such  unerring  wisdom?  Have  I 
got  Roger  Boiling  written  all  over  me?" 

She  stood  looking  at  him,  as  the  crowd  surged  to 
and  fro,  with  a  cool  and  somewhat  critical  survey.  It 
seemed  to  render  her  wholly  oblivious  to  the  steady 
tramp  of  hurrying  feet,  the  confusing  hum  of  greetings 
and  farewells,  and  the  clamorous  appeals  of  cabmen 
and  omnibus  drivers  mingling  with  the  spasmodic 
shrieks  of  an  engine  as  it  switched  near  by.  She  did 
not  reply  at  once;  and  again  she  smiled  softly,  secretly, 
as  to  herself,  the  smile  of  a  woman  who  knows  her 
power,  yet  scarcely  thinks  it  worth  her  while  to  exert  it. 

"I  got  a  telegram  on  the  train  from  Mrs.  Caldwell 
saying  you  would  meet  me,"  she  said,  at  length, 
without  deigning  to  enlighten  him  further.  "But  I 
might  ask  the  same  sort  of  question  of  you.  It  was 
really  very  clever  of  you  —  or  of  Mrs.  Caldwell.  But 

14 


MARIAN   DAY 

I  have  never  attributed  to  her  special  gifts  in  the  line 
of  description,  so  it  must  have  been  due  to  your  own 
powers  of  discrimination,  after  all.  What  was  the 
matter  with  her?  Couldn't  she  get  ready  on  time? 
Was  it  just  a  little  too  much  for  her  —  as  usual  ?  " 

Something  in  her  reference  to  her  friend,  the  attempt 
to  establish  a  kind  of  mutual  understanding  between 
them  regarding  Mrs.  Caldwell's  deficiencies  and  foi- 
bles, jarred  upon  his  good-breeding. 

"  No  —  yes  —  that  is,  I  mean  I  am  sure  she  would 
have  been  ready  on  time,"  he  responded,  loyally, 
though  not  without  a  momentary  misgiving  for  the 
effect  upon  her  of  his  needless  prevarication.  "  How- 
ever, she  was  suddenly  called  away.  She  was  awfully 
cut  up  about  it,  I  hope  you  will  believe." 

He  gave  a  short  glance  around,  accompanied  by  the 
swift,  stag-like  movement  of  the  head  that  had  caught 
her  eye  the  instant  she  stepped  from  the  train.  Then 
he  moved  back. 

"  But  I  am  keeping  you  here  standing  in  this  scorch- 
ing sun,"  he  supplemented,  quickly,  and  in  the  mas- 
terful tone  of  a  man  accustomed  to  look  somewhat 
dogmatically  after  a  woman's  small  comforts.  "The 
trap  is  waiting  just  back  of  the  station.  Let  me  take 
you  to  it.  I  will  come  back  and  give  directions  about 
your  luggage.  And  I  shall  have  to  countermand  your 
orders." 

15 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

Her  brows  arched  in  bewilderment,  but  without  a 
word  she  handed  him  her  trunk  checks  and  followed 
him  as  he  made  a  way  for  her  through  the  crowd,  her 
indifference  and  languor  oddly  offset  by  his  eager 
courtesy  and  intense  nervous  energy. 

He  returned  quickly  and  immediately  plunged  into 
explanation. 

"You  see  it  was  this  way,"  he  volunteered,  as  he 
got  in  on  the  far  side  of  Mrs.  CaldwelFs  gaily  painted 
little  vehicle  and  tossed  a  coin,  with  a  kindliness  that 
was  at  the  same  time  lordly  and  debonair,  to  the  small 
darky  who  had  been  holding  his  horse  for  him,  "  it  was 
this  way.  Several  days  ago  Mr.  Caldwell  was  sum- 
moned in  haste  to  a  brother  living  in  Frankfort  who  has 
been  extremely  ill,  and  who  is  now  at  the  point  of  death, 
I'm  thinking.  At  all  events,  he  has  grown  very  much 
worse,  and  this  morning  Mrs.  Caldwell  also  was  sent 
for.  She  thought  of  telegraphing  and  asking  you  not  to 
come,  but  afterwards  concluded  that  most  likely  things 
were  not  so  bad,  after  all,  and  that  '  Tim,'  as  she  calls 
Mr.  Caldwell,  just  wanted  to  see  her.  She  had  a  brief 
but  entirely  satisfactory  conference  by  telephone  with 
my  mother,  and  then  she  sent  for  your  humble  servant. 
We  are  the  Caldwells'  very  good  friends,  my  mother 
and  I,  and  we  live  next  door  to  them.  So  Mrs.  Cald- 
well has  handed  you  over  to  us  for  safe-keeping,  and 
we  feel  ourselves  very  much  honored,  I  assure  you." 

16 


MARIAN    DAY 

She  gave  him  a  quick,  penetrating  glance  of  startled 
inquiry  that  seemed  to  be  surprised  from  her  against 
her  will,  for  her  eyes  were  lowered  instantly.  But  not 
before  a  strange  look  had  leaped  from  under  the  half- 
closed  lids,  the  look  of  a  tigress  about  to  be  robbed  of 
her  prey.  Yet  it  vanished  so  speedily  one  might  easily 
have  been  persuaded  it  had  never  been  there. 

"Oh!"  she  exclaimed,  under  her  breath,  "oh,  I 
understand." 

For  a  moment  she  was  silent  and  abstracted,  thinking 
intently,  and  he  hesitated  to  break  in  upon  her,  sup- 
posing that  she  was  troubled  for  her  friends. 

But  all  at  once  there  took  place  some  subtle  change 
in  her  mental  attitude  which  expressed  itself  in  an  air 
of  unexpected  animation  —  a  warm  responsiveness  of 
demeanor  which  hitherto  her  manner  had  wholly 
lacked.  She  roused  herself  and  looked  about  her  as 
for  the  first  time,  noting  with  a  shrewd  and  calculating 
astuteness  the  wide,  comfortable  homes  they  were 
passing,  the  trim  equipages,  the  shadowy  streets  —  all 
the  quaint  beauty  and  jarring  uglinesses,  conglomerate 
and  detached,  of  the  old  Southern  town.  And  then, 
under  the  sudden  stimulus  of  a  situation  which  she 
had  just  become  alive  to,  and  which  was  likely  to  give 
a  very  different  turn  to  her  visit  from  what  she  had 
anticipated,  her  gaze  once  more  traveled  back  to  the 
young  man  at  her  side  and  rested  upon  him  in  an 

17 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

expression  that  was  daringly  tentative  but  at  the  same 
time  vigilant. 

He  looked  up  and  met  her  eyes,  and  a  wave  of 
youthful  self-consciousness  swept  over  him.  He  spoke 
quickly  and  in  a  sort  of  uncertainty. 

"  I  hope  you  will  try  to  feel  quite  at  home  with  us," 
he  said,  with  a  wholesome,  naive  cheerfulness  of  tone 
that  sought  merely  to  put  her  in  good  humor  with 
himself  and  everything  that  should  be  before  her. 

"  But  what  an  imposition ! "  she  cried,  with  an  eleva- 
tion of  the  eyebrows  and  a  slow  wonderment  in  her 
prolonged  stare  that  was  in  truth  less  a  protest  than  a 
call  to  arms.  "  Am  I  actually  to  be  a  trespasser  upon 
your  bounty?  How  beneficent!  You  know  I  may 
have  to  make  my  abode  with  you  for  days  and  days," 
she  added  in  a  very  low  voice. 

"  That's  Kentucky  hospitality.  Did  you  never  hear 
of  it?"  asked  Roger  Boiling. 

"Very  often,"  she  retorted,  with  ready  coquetry. 
"I  have  even  heard  of  the  man  who  came  to  make  a 
visit  of  two  weeks  and  stayed  twenty  years." 

His  laugh  rang  out.  "  Wasn't  it  immense  ?  But  his 
was  not  an  isolated  case,  I  beg  you  to  believe.  I  could 
tell  you  of  dozens  of  ante-bellum  tales  of  a  similar 
description.  They  surely  were  a  jolly  set,  those  old 
gentlefolk  of  a  generation  ago." 

"This  may  be  a  modern  instance,"  she  persisted, 
18 


MARIAN   DAY 

coolly.  But  before  he  could  answer  she  reverted  to 
the  subject  that,  like  a  deep  undertone,  had  been 
sounding  for  her  through  their  banter  until  she  could 
give  heed  to  only  it. 

"  Is  it  really  so  serious,  do  you  think,  this  illness  of 
Mr.  Caldwell's  brother?"  she  asked. 

His  handsome  face  clouded.  "I'm  afraid  it  is 
serious,"  he  answered,  "  though  Mrs.  Caldwell  did  not 
seem  to  fear  the  worst.  But  she  went  off  in  such  a 
rush  she  had  scarcely  time  to  think.  I  never  saw  a 
man  more  grieved  than  poor  old  Tim  was  on  the  day 
he  left.  It's  his  favorite  brother,  you  know.  We  were 
all  very  much  disturbed  for  him.  Mrs.  Caldwell  also 
is  very  fond  of  him  —  of  the  brother,  I  mean.  You 
know  she  is  just  the  kindest  hearted  little  woman  in 
the  whole  world." 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  said,  absently. 

Again  something  in  her  tone  puzzled  him.  He 
looked  up  inquiringly,  but  she  gave  him  no  clue,  and 
he  said  with  gay  insouciance: 

"You  haven't  yet  told  me  how  you  happened  to 
guess  my  name  and  my  errand  at  the  station.  Are 
you  in  possession  of  some  sort  of  secret  power  that 
makes  the  hidden  plain  to  you?" 

Marian  Day  roused  herself  as  with  an  effort,  but 
there  was  a  characteristic  audacity  in  the  reply  she 
flashed  back  at  him  and  in  her  radiant  smile. 

19 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

"Possessed  of  a  devil,  do  you  mean,  like  the  slave 
girl  of  Biblical  fame  ?  I  am  not  sure." 

He  waited,  vaguely  conscious  of  something  withheld, 
her  teasing  allurement  reflecting  itself  upon  his  coun- 
tenance in  only  a  puzzled  amusement. 

"  I  had  seen  you  before,"  she  said,  presently. 

"  Really  ?  But  when  ?  I  am  sure  I  should  not  have 
forgotten." 

A  half  bored  look  came  into  her  eyes.  "  I  meant  of 
course  a  picture  of  you,"  she  responded,  carelessly, 
turning  away  from  him  and  directing  her  attention  to 
the  crowded  street.  "  Mrs.  Caldwell  had  a  photograph 
with  her  last  winter  in  Louisville  on  a  very  memorable 
occasion  when  she  invited  me  in  from  my  country 
school  to  spend  from  Friday  to  Monday  with  her  at  her 
hotel  and  go  to  the  opera.  You  can't  think  how  it 
delighted  me." 

"  The  picture  or  the  opera  ?  "  he  asked,  gravely. 

"To  be  perfectly  frank  with  you  —  both." 

He  tipped  his  hat  to  her  as  his  laughing  eyes  met  hers. 

"I  am  not  used  to  having  bouquets  hurled  at  me 
like  that,  Miss  Day;  you  must  pardon  me  if  I  don't 
know  how  to  make  the  right  response." 

She  bit  her  lip.  "That's  because  you  are  such  an 
infant,"  she  answered,  a  trifle  irritably. 

"An  infant,  am  I?  Well,  when  a  fellow  gets  to  be 
an  old  man  of  nearly  eight-and-twenty  —  " 

20 


MARIAN   DAY 

"Oh,  but  you  are  not  twenty-eight,"  she  said, 
shortly. 

"  I  will  show  you  the  family  Bible." 

She  turned  and  looked  him  full  in  the  eyes.  "You 
don't  mean  that  you  are  actually  — " 

"  I  am  actually.  Already  I  feel  the  signs  of  old  age 
approaching.  I  was  something  of  an  athlete  in  my 
day." 

It  was  evident  that  she  was  completely  taken  by 
surprise.  "  A  boy  —  a  mere  boy,  even  younger  than 
his  picture!"  had  been  her  mental  comment  at  the 
station,  and  she  had  been  quite  sure,  after  further 
conversation,  that  he  could  not  be  more  than  twenty- 
two  or  twenty-three  at  the  utmost.  She  herself  was  a 
little  under  twenty-nine. 

When  she  spoke  again  it  was  with  a  more  subtle 
exertion  of  her  charm  and  a  greater  soberness  of 
expression,  a  flattering  deference  that  for  the  first  time 
was  manifest  in  the  various  gradations  of  acquaintance 
through  which  they  had  passed. 

"It  was  mainly  for  the  sake  of  what  it  stood  for," 
she  said,  a  little  sadly,  at  length.  "Good-looking 
young  men,  gentlemen,  in  my  present  experience  are 
rare.  Mrs.  Caldwell  brought  the  photograph  with  her 
because  she  wanted  to  see  if  I  did  not  think  you  some- 
thing like  a  man  we  both  met  last  summer  at  a  little 
resort  where  I  first  knew  her.  There  was  not  much 

21 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

resemblance,  I  thought,  except  of  a  very  superficial 
kind,  for  you  are  so  powerful,  so  strong,  and  he  —  he 
was  dying  of  consumption." 

There  was  not  the  smallest  tremor  in  her  voice,  but 
his  face  softened  sympathetically  and  rather  suggest- 
ively. Noting  the  look,  she  said,  quickly: 

"  The  man  did  not  interest  me  in  the  least.  It  was 
not  merely  because  disease  and  suffering  are  things 
that  almost  invariably  produce  in  me  a  sense  of  irrita- 
tion, if  not  of  positive  animosity.  It  was  not  just  that, 
although  that  cough  of  his  was  simply  maddening. 
It  was  the  realization  that  he  was  one  of  those  sensitive, 
uncertain  souls  who  are  always  waiting  for  some  sort 
of  divine  assurance  before  they  will  enter  upon  any 
kind  of  work,  and  who  fail  not  from  lack  of  ability  but 
from  sheer  procrastination." 

There  was  a  sudden  vehemence  in  her  manner,  and 
a  deliberate  attempt  at  a  revelation  of  herself  that  was 
plainly  intended  to  draw  him  out;  but  he  was  silent, 
and  she  went  on  more  quietly. 

"The  dice  of  the  gods  may  be  busy  with  his  fate, 
and  it  is  useless  to  struggle  when  once  the  final  throw 
has  been  cast;  nevertheless,  the  man  who  courts  success 
in  this  day  and  generation  hasn't  time  to  wait  until  he 
is  called,  you  may  be  sure.  He  simply  sees  the  plum 
of  opportunity,  makes  a  leap  for  it,  grasps  it,  if  possible, 
and  is  off  and  away  with  it  before  others  have  even 

22 


MARIAN   DAY 

suspected  it  is  there.  This  is  not  an  age  when  people 
can  afford  to  wait  for  '  leadin's,'  as  they  say  down  in 
the  country." 

For  a  moment  he  did  not  answer.  Then  he  leaned 
forward  and  touched  the  horse  lightly  with  the  whip. 
His  face  had  grown  thoughtful,  taking  on  a  gravity 
that  made  him  suddenly  look  his  age. 

"I  believe  that  Opportunity  knocks  not  only  once 
but  many  times  at  every  man's  door,"  he  replied 
presently,  with  conviction.  "  The  difference  in  men  is 
in  the  capacity  of  discernment  —  keenness  of  vision  — 
strength  of  heart  and  brawn  and  brain  to  know  and 
seize  hold  of  the  waiting  guest,  and  then  to  constrain 
him  with  all  the  civility  and  all  the  might  that  may  be 
necessary  to  come  in,  instead  of  slamming  the  door  in 
his  face,  as  very  many  of  us  often  do.  In  that  case,  of 
course,  no  great  harm  is  done  except  to  ourselves. 
Opportunity  passes  on  to  the  next  one,  and  the  world's 
work  manages  to  get  itself  done  somehow,  and  in  even 
a  better  way  perhaps  than  if  we  had  had  a  hand  in  it. 
Only  it  doesn't  mean  that  there  is  any  just  quarrel 
with  Opportunity." 

She  flashed  a  swift,  brilliant  smile  upon  him. 

"  Oh,  I  like  that  —  I  like  it ! "  she  exclaimed,  softly. 
"It  thrills  me  through  and  through.  It  means  that 
you  are  in  dead  earnest  and  that  you  are  one  of  the 
men  that  will  surely  do  things." 

23 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

He  laughed.  "  With  a  proper  degree  of  discrimina- 
tion I  hope  I  will,"  he  replied,  half  in  jest,  half  in 
earnest.  Then  his  face  suddenly  grew  grave  again. 

"But  as  for  the  rest  of  what  you  say,  that  about 
being  called,  you  know,  well,  I  am  perfectly  sure  that 
there  is  a  distinct  something  that  every  human  being  is 
divinely  appointed  to  do  in  this  world,  whether  it  be 
the  particular  thing  he  should  prefer  to  do  or  not;  and 
I  only  know  that  if  a  fellow  isn't  conscious  of  some 
sort  of  '  leadin's '  —  if  you  will  lend  me  your  wrord  - 
as  he  goes  about  the  choice  of  his  life  work,  the  day  is 
not  very  far  distant  when  he  will  begin  to  find  himself 
somewhat  in  the  situation  King  Arthur  predicted  for 
his  knights,  'following  wandering  fires,  lost  in  the 
quagmire.' " 

He  spoke  simply,  modestly,  in  a  tone  of  seriousness 
he  had  not  before  used  with  her,  and  she  studied  him 
with  a  growing  interest,  attracted  not  by  the  ethical  in 
him  which  she  was  beginning  to  discern,  and  which  as 
a  matter  of  fact  she  cared  nothing  for,  but  by  a  certain 
inherent  strength  she  saw  in  him  which  seemed  to  her 
to  make  him  a  being  worth  while. 

"After  all,  I  am  not  sure  that  we  don't  both  mean 
about  the  same  thing,"  she  said.  "  It  is  power  that  I 
care  for  in  a  man,  power,  always  power,  that  tremen- 
dous, onsweeping  energy  that  can  drive  things  before 
it  like  a  mighty  wind,  the  great  lever,  the  irresistible 

24 


MARIAN    DAY 

force,  the  unconquerable  element  —  that  moves  the 
world  and  will  continue  to  move  it  until  the  very  end 
of  all  things.  It  matters  little  to  me  in  what  it  finds  its 
source,  what  it  draws  on  for  its  strength  — " 

He  met  her  gaze  with  the  utmost  candor. 

"  Isn't  that  rather  pagan  ?  "  he  asked,  smiling. 

"  Perhaps  it  is.  But  there  is  something  pagan  — 
barbaric,  if  you  will,  about  me.  Haven't  you  dis- 
covered it?" 

"I  begin  to  think  I  have,"  he  responded,  with 
hypocritical  staidness. 

She  turned  toward  him  quickly,  and  her  voice  was 
low  and  tense,  thrilling  with  passionate  feeling  and 
intimate  personal  appeal. 

"Mediocrity  is  something  I  loathe,"  she  said.  "A 
man  should  either  be  a  magnificent  success  or  a  colossal 
failure.  There  is  no  possible  middle  ground  for  one 
who  is  worthy  of  the  name.  He  should  fall  from  a 
great  height,  if  he  must  fall  at  all ;  and  to  please  me  he 
must  be  a  superb  exponent  of  those  great  primal  forces 
that  were  at  work  in  the  race  when  feeling  was  powerful 
and  paramount,  and  when  ambition  and  love  flew  to 
their  objects  straight  as  an  arrow  to  its  goal.  In  other 
words,  he  should  strive  hard,  love  fiercely,  and  drink 
deep  of  the  wine  of  life." 

She  threw  him  a  sidelong  glance  winged  with  co- 
quetry, and  with  infinite  flattery  and  suggestion.  But 

25 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

he  only  laughed  back  gaily,  and  retorted  lightly;  his 
manner  still  remained  boyishly  frank.  It  was  evident 
she  was  not  turning  his  head.  Her  eyes  narrowed  and 
she  looked  away. 

As  a  matter  of  fact  he  found  it  difficult  to  go  below 
the  surface  with  her,  and  the  intensity  of  reserve  that 
lay  beneath  his  outward  cordiality  raised  a  barrier  that 
distinctly  repelled  her  as  she  approached  the  confines 
of  the  personal.  Though  her  beauty  had  for  an 
instant  startled  and  bewildered  him,  intoxicating  him 
almost  like  a  sip  from  some  magic  draught,  he  had 
soon  recovered  his  senses,  and  she  had  been  unable  to 
do  more  than  provoke  in  him  a  mild  curiosity  concern- 
ing her,  without  rousing  his  imagination  or  compelling 
him  to  anything  like  the  response  she  had  deliberately 
aimed  to  call  forth. 

He  was  not  at  all  sure  that  he  admired  her,  though 
he  was  beginning  to  be  a  little  sorry  for  her;  and  pity, 
even  when  it  was  a  long  way  off  from  compassion,  was 
dangerous  ground  for  him  always.  She  gave  him  the 
impression,  despite  her  dash  and  her  defiance,  of 
having  had,  as  he  inwardly  expressed  it,  "a  pretty 
rough  time  of  it  on  the  journey  of  life,"  and  there  was 
a  chivalry  in  his  nature  that  shrank  from  the  thought 
of  hardship  to  a  woman.  She  was  a  new  type  to  him, 
and  his  experience  had  not  been  varied.  He  only 
knew  that,  during  her  brief  stay  under  his  mother's 

26 


MARIAN   DAY 

roof,  he  meant  to  be  everything  that  was  kind  to  her, 
and  he  felt  it  might  be  possible  for  them,  his  mother 
and  himself,  in  some  measure  to  atone  to  her  for  her 
very  natural  disappointment  on  account  of  her  friend's 
absence. 

He  could  not  refrain  as  they  drove  along  from  an 
occasional  speculation  as  to  what  his  mother  probably 
would  think  of  her  —  his  lovely,  high-bred  mother  with 
her  smooth  ways  and  somewhat  hypercritical  demands, 
particularly  with  regard  to  young  women.  He  recalled 
that  he  had  once  heard  her  say  that  she  considered  the 
well-born  Kentucky  girl  a  most  beautiful  and  graceful 
and  dignified  representative  of  the  aristocratic  class. 
But  it  went  through  him  with  the  poignancy  of  an 
acute  reminder  that  in  that  moment  she  was  speaking 
of  Sibyl  Fontaine.  What  would  she  think  of  Miss 
Day? 

He  asked  himself  that  question  in  vain,  being  by  no 
means  blind  to  the  crudities,  the  lack  of  fineness  and 
of  an  enlightenment  that  was  spiritual  as  well  as  social, 
in  the  strange  guest  she  should  have  to  entertain.  He 
took  another  furtive  glance  at  the  clean-cut  profile 
beside  him,  and  then  looked  quickly  away  in  a  sort  of 
unconscious  apology.  No,  he  was  not  at  all  sure  he 
admired  her.  All  at  once  his  face  changed. 

In  the  same  instant  Marian  Day  was  aware  that  he 
gave  a  quick,  nervous  start,  and  that  his  whole  frame 

27 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

was  suddenly  quivering  under  an  intensity  of  excite- 
ment as  from  an  electric  shock.  In  his  eyes  there  was 
a  look  that  she  had  been  wholly  unable  to  call  there, 
a  look  of  dumb,  reverent  admiration. 

She  pricked  up  her  ears  and  glanced  around,  and  as 
she  did  so,  in  the  crowded  street  an  open  carriage 
passed,  its  wheels  almost  grazing  against  their  own. 

A  black-haired  young  woman,  dressed  in  white,  very 
beautiful,  and  with  something  rare  and  indefinable  in 
look  and  bearing,  was  alone  in  the  carriage;  and  Roger 
Boiling  was  in  the  act  of  making  his  best  bow  to  her. 

The  girl  flushed  a  little  as  she  met  the  young  man's 
eyes,  but  there  was  a  poise,  a  picturesque  reserve  in 
her  gracious  courtesy  that  seemed  to  mark  her  pecul- 
iarly as  belonging  to  an  order,  and  that  cut  Marian 
Day  like  a  reproof. 

In  that  brief  glance  she  had  seen  everything:  the 
beauty,  the  distinction,  the  fine,  intangible  dignity 
which  sat  like  a  crown  upon  the  small  head,  sur- 
rounding it  with  something  as  delicate  yet  as  real  as 
a  bridal  veil.  She  was,  moreover,  as  definitely  con- 
scious of  the  effect  of  it  all  upon  the  young  man  as 
if  reading  his  very  thoughts.  A  swift  change  passed 
over  her  features,  and  her  lips  curled  in  a  shrewdly 
subtle  smile. 

"  Ah,  that's  the  girl ! "  she  commented,  mentally. 


CHAPTER  III 

MRS.    BOLLING   IS   ALARMED 

IN  a  low,  square  room,  modest  in  appointments,  yet 
cool  and  restful  to  the  eye,  with  white  linen  coverings 
and  airy  draperies,  and  interesting  on  account  of  a 
certain  fineness  of  selection  in  the  way  of  water-color 
or  etching,  or  a  stray  volume  here  and  there,  a  graceful 
middle-aged  woman  was  sitting  absently  cutting  the 
pages  of  a  magazine. 

It  was  too  late  to  read  comfortably,  even  outside, 
had  her  mood  permitted  it,  and  within,  the  room  was 
in  deep  shadow,  owing  to  the  obstruction  of  a  wide 
porch  curtained  with  vines  that  ran  the  full  length  of 
the  building,  thus  gratefully,  in  the  earlier  hours, 
intercepting  the  glare  and  imparting  at  all  times  a 
delicious  bower-like  look  to  the  abode  that  made  it  a 
spot  on  which  the  eye  of  the  passer-by  invariably 
lingered.  The  house  was  of  a  quaint,  cottage  style, 
mainly  of  one  story,  with  an  old-fashioned  doorway 
and  windows  that  reached  down  to  the  floor,  opening 
inward  like  small  double-doors.  All  of  these  had  been 

29 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

flung  wide,  and  the  twilight  air,  sweet  with  flowers, 
came  floating  in  as  a  welcome  guest. 

Mrs.  Boiling  held  the  little  mother-of-pearl  paper 
knife  daintily  between  the  tips  of  her  fingers  as  she 
slowly  cut  the  leaves.  In  spite  of  her  preoccupation 
and  somewhat  troubled  air  there  was  a  precision  in 
the  evenness  of  the  recurring  movement  that  was  sug- 
gestive of  an  inherent  quality.  One  would  have  made 
sure  that  her  grasp  upon  herself  was  well-nigh  perfect, 
and  also  that  this  self-poise  had  been  acquired  not 
merely  through  a  regard  for  conventionality,  which 
assuredly  she  was  by  no  means  disposed  to  neglect, 
but  as  a  result  of  a  long  discipline  of  life  that  had  led 
her  up  through  years  of  trial  to  the  serene  mountain 
heights  where  she  breathed  the  pure  air  of  a  sweet  and 
patient  subjection.  The  expression  of  her  features 
was  mild  and  pensive,  in  marked  contrast  with  the 
intense,  ardent  questioning,  the  unabashed  hope,  the 
vastness  of  longing  and  of  purpose,  that  looked  forth 
with  such  passionate  insistence  from  her  son's  eyes. 

She  wore  a  very  simple  dinner  gown  of  black  lawn, 
cut  surplice,  and  somewhat  severely  made,  but  she 
gave  an  impression  of  completeness  and  of  elegance, 
and  her  white  throat  rose  above  the  smooth  folds 
across  her  ample  breast  firm  and  beautiful.  She  had 
grown  a  trifle  too  stout,  but  she  was  tall,  and  her 
figure  had  not  lost  its  suppleness.  Her  light-brown 

30 


MRS.    BOLLING    IS   ALARMED 

hair,  streaked  with  gray,  was  still  abundant,  and  her 
complexion  was  fresh  and  rosy  as  a  child's. 

In  the  room  beyond  the  cloth  was  spread  for  dinner, 
and  a  negro  man-servant  was  moving  softly  to  and  fro. 
Presently  he  began  to  light  the  candles,  and  Mrs. 
Boiling  in  her  deep  chair  near  the  window  looked  up 
with  a  start  as  the  soft  glow  from  the  tall  silver  can- 
delabra flooded  the  space  around.  Despite  the  pol- 
ished calm  of  her  manner,  her  glance  wandered  with 
distinct  anxiety  to  the  doorway,  and  her  breath  came 
a  trifle  hurried  and  uneven. 

For  Marian  Day's  abrupt  and  dazzling  entrance  that 
morning  into  the  placidity  of  her  home  life  had  been 
not  unlike  the  shock  to  the  senses  produced  by  a 
thunder-bolt  hurled  from  a  peaceful  sky.  It  had  come 
nearer  costing  her  the  loss  of  her  equanimity  than  any 
experience  that  had  befallen  her  in  recent  years.  The 
thought  of  it  and  of  what  this  visit  possibly  might  lead 
up  to  had  got  upon  her  nerves  and  taken  hold  of  her 
in  a  way  that  was  painfully  persistent;  so  that  she  was 
filled  with  forebodings,  and  most  uncomfortably  dis- 
traught as  she  bent  her  head  thoughtfully  over  the 
magazine.  She  dallied  for  a  moment  longer,  the  paper 
knife  moving  less  regularly. 

She  had  reached  the  last  page.  "James,  tell  Miss 
Day  that  dinner  is  served,"  she  said,  noting  that  the 
negro  lingered  idle  about  the  table. 

31 


"She  comin'  now,  Miss  Sophie,"  replied  the  man 
with  a  grin,  as  he  whisked  an  imperceptible  bit  of  dust 
from  one  of  the  high-backed  chairs.  "She  been  out 
in  de  gyardin,  an'  she  got  her  han's  full." 

Just  as  the  man  ceased  speaking  there  was  a  rustle 
hi  the  hall  as  of  garments  trailing  in  the  direction  of 
the  drawing-room,  the  sound  being  accompanied  by  a 
suppressed,  pantherish  sort  of  tread  that  sent  an 
involuntary  shiver  through  the  waiting  lady.  A  mo- 
ment later  Marian  appeared  in  the  doorway.  She 
was  smiling  softly. 

She  stood  quite  still  for  an  instant,  like  one  who  has 
deliberately  planned  an  effect,  and  her  glance  traversed 
the  apartment  with  the  swiftness  of  a  wind-swept 
flame.  Suddenly  her  expression  changed.  A  quickly 
assumed  nonchalance  took  the  place  of  the  radiant 
self-possession  that  had  preceded  it,  and  she  spoke 
familiarly,  with  even  a  note  of  impatience  in  her  clear 
treble,  as  if  suddenly  jarred  upon  in  some  way,  and 
grown  conscious. 

"How  can  you  leave  all  these  roses  out  there  to 
blush  unseen,  Mrs.  Boiling?"  she  cried.  "It  posi- 
tively hurts  me.  In  another  day  they  will  be  beginning 
to  fall.  But  I  have  rescued  a  few  from  obscurity  - 
that  most  galling  of  conditions.  Don't  you  want  them 
for  your  dinner  table  ?  " 

She  held  out  the  huge  bunch  of  flowers  she  had  just 
32 


MRS.    BOLLING   IS   ALARMED 

gathered  and  then  dropped  it  with  a  careless  gesture 
as  Soon  as  she  had  reached  the  center  of  the  room, 
apparently  forgetful  of  having  an  instant  before 
directed  attention  to  it. 

Mrs.  Boiling  rose  graciously,  though  slightly  taken 
by  surprise.  In  spite  of  her  rare  tact  and  knowledge 
of  the  world  she  had  been  from  the  very  outset  not  a 
little  disconcerted  by  a  guest  whose  strange  lack  of 
ceremony  offered  a  contrast  to  her  own  formality 
sufficiently  pronounced  to  make  her  feel  their  relative 
positions  to  be  reversed,  and  she  herself  the  one  re- 
ceived and  not  the  one  receiving.  Not  that  Marian 
did  not  attempt  to  put  her  at  her  ease.  She  had 
entered  the  house  with  all  the  air  of  one  long  expected, 
and  she  had  made  known  her  intention  at  once  of 
accepting  the  cordial  invitation  that  had  been  extended 
to  make  herself  quite  at  home  in  it.  The  elder  woman 
glanced  a  little  helplessly  at  the  great  nosegay  on  the 
table  before  her. 

"  Oh !  —  ah,  of  course,  my  dear  —  I  shall  be 
charmed,"  she  said,  quickly.  "  James,  take  them 
and  put  them  in  water,"  she  commanded  in  an 
aside.  "I  believe  there  will  not  be  room  for  any 
more  on  the  dinner  table,"  she  explained,  while 
Marian,  with  the  detachment  of  utter  indifference, 
stood  watching  the  negro  as  he  gathered  the  roses 
up.  "  James  has  his  orders  to  keep  us  well  supplied, 

33 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

but  I  am  sure  he  will  find  a  place  for  these.  How 
very  good  of  you!  I  hope  you  did  not  prick  your 
fingers  ?  " 

"I  found  some  scissors  in  my  trunk,  and  I  never 
expect  my  roses  to  be  without  thorns.  As  a  rule,  I 
have  had  the  thorns  without  the  roses,"  replied  Marian 
Day,  taking  a  photograph  from  the  table  and  coolly 
examining  it,  her  glaiice  sweeping  the  unfamiliar 
features  with  the  swift  and  penetrating  inquiry  she 
had  bestowed  upon  the  little  domicile  and  all  that  it 
contained  on  entering  it  seven  or  eight  hours  before. 
Mrs.  Boiling  was  morally  certain  that  that  same 
acumen  had  counted  every  one  of  her  gray  hairs,  and 
that  Miss  Day  was  as  cognizant  as  she  was  of  their 
recently  restricted  income. 

At  luncheon  the  situation  had  been  distinctly  strained, 
notwithstanding  Roger's  light-hearted  pleasantries,  his 
ready  flow  of  conversation,  and  his  attitude  —  slightly 
reassuring  to  her  motherly  alarms  —  of  kindly  but 
unensnared  protection.  Mrs.  Boiling's  sense  of  pro- 
priety, which  was  of  a  delicacy  unusual  enough  to  be 
commented  upon,  forbade,  even  with  her  son,  any 
discussion  of  a  guest  to  whom  their  shelter  had  been 
thus  afforded;  but  she  had  watched  the  two  with  a 
veiled  disquiet  beneath  her  exquisite  refinement  and 
courtesy  and  patrician  calm,  and  she  was  by  no  means 
disposed  to  cavil  at  the  circumstance  which  had 

34 


MRS.    BOLLING   IS   ALARMED 

temporarily  at  least  removed  from  danger  the  object 
of  her  fears. 

Presently  Marian  raised  her  head  and  tossed  the 
photograph  aside,  and  Mrs.  Boiling,  who  had  been 
obligingly  waiting,  moved  forward.  She  had  caught 
the  hard  little  note  hi  the  girl's  voice,  and  it  had  set 
her  to  wondering.  Mrs.  Caldwell  had  been  able  to 
tell  her  so  little. 

"  We  are  to  dine  alone,  you  and  I,"  she  said,  affably, 
but  with  a  covert  glance  that  her  smooth  and  kindly 
urbanity  did  not  forbid.  "My  son  has  an  engage- 
ment, to  his  regret,  he  asked  me  to  say  —  one  that  he 
could  not  cancel.  He  wished  me  to  make  his  apologies 
to  you." 

If  this  announcement  caused  her  any  dissatisfaction 
Marian  Day  was  far  too  clever  to  reveal  it.  She  merely 
nodded  and  made  no  comment,  and  the  two  seated 
themselves  at  the  table. 

But  as  the  light  of  the  waxen  candles  fell  upon  the 
silent  and  half  disdainful  figure  at  her  side,  Mrs. 
Boiling's  heart  gave  a  quick  throb  of  nervous  appre- 
hension, and  she  was  startled  anew  into  an  unwilling 
acknowledgment  of  the  alluring  power  of  the  girl's 
ripe  and  dazzling  beauty,  and  of  her  insolent  charm. 
For  beneath  that  lovely  marble-like  exterior  she  had 
seen  what  Mrs.  Caldwell's  flightiness  and  Roger's 
inexperience  had  failed  to  discern,  and,  before  its 

35 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

momentary  quiescence,  she  trembled,  as  if  suddenly 
brought  into  contact  with  the  sleeping  passion  of  the 
jungle. 

Marian  was  dressed  with  a  certain  regard  for  a 
classic  suggestion,  and  her  white  gown  of  a  silky  gauze, 
cut  a  little  low  at  the  throat  and  secured  slightly  above 
the  waist  line  by  a  slender  golden  girdle,  was  soft  and 
sheeny  and  clinging,  and  fell  sheer  as  gossamer  about 
her  shapely  limbs.  Her  hair  was  loosely  arranged  in 
a  Psyche  knot  at  the  back,  and  it  rippled  and  rioted 
away  from  her  white  brow,  and  formed  itself  into 
countless  little  curls  and  twists  here  and  there  in  a 
manner  that  was  truly  bewitching. 

Mrs.  Boiling  found  herself  not  a  little  disturbed  by 
an  evident  effort  to  please  which,  she  knew  intuitively, 
was  not  directed  mainly  toward  herself;  and  she  was 
discreetly  on  the  alert,  recalling  the  look  on  the  girl's 
face  when  her  eyes  swept  the  room  a  moment  before. 

"You  should  always  wear  white,  my  dear,"  she 
remarked  in  her  gently  patronizing  way,  and  with  a 
hurried  second  glance  that  was  decorously  questioning. 
"It  is  wonderfully  becoming  to  you.  I  think  one 
reason  why  our  Southern  girls  make  so  many  conquests 
over  their  Northern  sisters  is  because  they  recognize 
the  attractiveness  of  simplicity  in  dress  —  to  men  at 
least." 

Marian  flinched,  and  looked  quickly  into  the  pleasant 
36 


MRS.    BOLLING   IS   ALARMED 

face  turned  toward  her.     She  was  by  no  means  reas- 
sured, despite  its  complaisance. 

"  I  think  some  of  us  are  driven  to  that  discovery  by 
a  force  even  more  compelling  than  the  desire  for 
masculine  approval,"  she  responded,  dryly,  with  a  low 
chime  of  laughter  that  blended  with  the  chilliness  of 
her  tone  like  the  music  of  sleigh  bells  making  a  hard 
silvery  obligate  to  the  accompanying  sound  of  the 
frozen  earth  as  the  runners  glide  over  it.  Her  lashes 
were  downcast,  and  there  had  come  a  dull  red  in  her 
cheeks  as  if  kindled  by  some  secret  inward  fire.  It 
altered  her  strangely. 

Mrs.  Boiling  was  conscious  of  the  stirring  of  a  revolt 
that  might  be  capable  under  stress  of  developing  into 
open  rebellion. 

"  Then  it  is  necessity,  is  it  ?  —  who  it  seems  is  not 
only  the  mother  of  invention  but  also  of  good  taste?" 
she  asked,  smiling,  as  the  soup  was  placed  before  them. 

"  Rather,  a  woful  progeny  of  dowdies  exhibiting  every 
variety  of  clumsy  makeshift,"  the  girl  flung  back. 
Then  a  sudden  audacity  leaped  into  her  eyes;  and  a 
sort  of  dare-devil  spirit  provoked  by  the  consciousness 
of  being  disapproved  of,  which  something,  despite  the 
careful  courtesy  of  the  other,  had  made  her  most 
irritatingly  alive  to,  drove  her  to  touch  upon  the  very 
subject  which,  for  cogent  reasons  of  her  own,  she 
most  wished  to  avoid. 

37 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

"But  I  am  not  all  Southern,"  she  said,  "as  you 
supposed.  My  father  was  what  in  Virginia  was  always 
described  as  a  Yankee.  He  came  from  Vermont." 

She  had  no  sooner  spoken  than  she  regretted  it. 
Mrs.  Boiling  was  interested  at  once,  and  hopeful,  with 
the  Kentuckian's  inborn  love  of  pedigree,  of  estab- 
lishing an  agreeable  basis  of  conversation. 

"Oh,  indeed!"  she  exclaimed.  "But  your  mother 
was  a  Virginian?  In  what  part  of  the  state  did  you 
live  ?  We  have  many  relatives  in  Virginia,  Roger  and 
I." 

There  was  an  instant's  hesitation,  and  Mrs.  Boiling 
waited  patiently.  The  delay  was  barely  perceptible, 
yet  it  did  not  pass  unnoticed. 

All  at  once  Marian  slowly,  and  with  a  shade  of 
defiance  in  her  aspect,  raised  her  head  and  looked  her 
hostess  in  the  eyes. 

"  We  lived  in  Richmond,"  she  said. 

"In  Richmond?  Then  you  must  know  a  great 
many  persons  with  whom  we  are  acquainted.  Do  you 
recall  —  "  and  she  was  about  to  go  over  a  list  of  familiar 
names  when  Marian  cut  in  coldly,  but  with  seeming 
carelessness. 

"  Oh,  but  we  were  quite  unimportant,"  she  declared. 
"  I  believe  we  did  trace  back,  somewhere  on  a  line  of 
my  mother's,  to  a  Fairfax,  or  some  one  else,  after 
skipping  over  a  great  many  nobodies  in  between. 

38 


MRS.    ROLLING   IS   ALARMED 

However,  it  doesn't  matter.  My  father  was  a  ne'er-do- 
weel,  and  my  mother  never  knew  anything  but  hard- 
ship and  privation  all  the  days  of  her  life  —  with  him. 
If  it  takes  four  generations  to  bring  the  individual  up 
from  poverty  to  the  highest  grade  of  gentility,  the 
process  can  be  reversed  with  half  the  number." 

Mrs.  Boiling  was  perplexed.  A  vague  suspicion, 
too  shadowy  indeed  to  be  called  anything  so  definite, 
was  beginning  to  be  awakened  in  her  by  the  intimation 
of  an  attitude  of  concealment,  which  one  less  observant 
might  readily  have  failed  to  perceive,  but  which  to 
Mrs.  Boiling  was  evident  despite  Marian's  undaunted 
candor.  She  believed  that  it  had  nothing  whatever  to 
do  with  a  desire  to  withhold  from  her  the  fact  of 
humble  birth. 

"  You  don't  think  it  is  a  question  of  money,  do  you  ?  " 
she  asked,  a  trifle  distantly.  "Think  of  the  fine  old 
families  in  Kentucky  and  Virginia  whose  fortunes  are 
lost  to  them,  but  who,  nevertheless,  have  never  sur- 
rendered an  iota  of  their  gentility  or  of  their  tradition, 
or  of  their  position!  There  are  some  things  that  one 
need  never  lose." 

She  caught  herself  up,  suddenly  recollecting  that  her 
guest  was  an  acknowledged  nobody.  "  And  yet  —  a 
Fairfax?"  she  asked  herself  wonderingly.  It  was 
difficult  to  believe  that  one  could  have  in  one's  veins 
even  a  far-off  strain  of  high-breeding  and  not  be 

39 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

rescued  from  such  raw  inelegances,  such  a  total  lack 
of  everything  that  to  her  mind  constituted  the  lady  of 
quality,  as  was  manifest  in  Marian  Day.  She  felt  sure 
that  there  must  be  some  mistake,  that  it  must  have 
been  —  "  some  one  else." 

"  If  it  is  not  a  question  of  money,  I  am  sure  I  don't 
know  what  it  is  a  question  of,"  observed  Marian,  with 
a  shrug,  and  in  a  tone  of  obvious  relief. 

Mrs.  Boiling  studied  the  pattern  of  the  table-cloth 
attentively.  She  was  smiling  when  she  spoke,  but  her 
tone  was  more  formal  than  it  yet  had  been. 

"Upon  that  principle,  Miss  Day,"  she  replied,  "the 
number  of  gentlemen  in  the  South  would  be  small 
indeed." 

James  had  removed  the  fish,  and  Marian's  gaze  was 
wandering  a  little  absently  about  the  room.  Under 
all  her  bold  speech  her  thoughts  were  thrumming  a 
monotone.  And  Roger  Boiling's  face,  young,  ardent, 
and  still  undespoiled  of  its  supremest  charm  —  its 
divine  faith  in  all  high  and  noble  things,  its  passionate 
purity,  seemed  to  look  at  her  across  the  blur  of  the 
pink  wax  candles  with  an  expression  half  pleading  in 
the  eager  eyes.  She  did  not  reply  directly  to  Mrs. 
Boiling's  remark,  but,  with  a  strange  fitful  gleam 
darting  from  under  her  half  closed  lids,  she  folded  her 
hands  in  her  lap  and  laughed  softly  to  herself,  the 
laughter  of  a  Lorelei,  who  sees  her  victim  swimming 

40 


MRS.    BOLLING   IS   ALARMED 

toward  her  in  the  foam.  Then  she  turned  quickly, 
fingering  the  delicate  spiral  of  her  glass. 

"You  spoke  of  tradition,"  she  said,  deliberately 
playing  with  the  subject  as  a  cat  with  a  mouse,  one 
moment  releasing  it,  and  then  making  a  dash  for  it 
and  shaking  it  a  little  viciously  between  her  white 
teeth.  "  But  tradition  of  what,  if  not  of  gold  lace  and 
former  splendors?  I  should  like  to  have  a  little  of 
the  gold  lace  myself.  Small  comfort  it  would  be  to 
me  to  know  it  had  adorned  my  ancestors  when  I 
myself  have  to  go  in  rags.  When  I  am  married  — " 
she  paused  a  moment,  and  then  her  lips  parted  in  a 
swift,  daring  smile  of  infinite  coquetry  and  complexity 
and  confidence  in  self  —  "  when  I  am  married,  it  will 
be,  I  hope,  to  a  man  who  can  give  me  something  more 
substantial  than  a  dingy  name  reflecting  feebly  the 
fading  glories  of  the  past.  After  all,  the  pride  of  the 
Kentuckian  and  the  Virginian  resolves  itself  down  to 
a  very  simple  thing  —  the  thing  of  dollars  and  cents, 
his  ancestors'  dollars  and  cents,  I  mean." 

"  Has  it  never  occurred  to  you  that  it  might  be  based, 
for  instance,  upon  noble  deeds,  service  to  one's  country, 
hereditary  instincts  of  honor  and  refinement  ?  "  inquired 
Mrs.  Boiling,  with  suave  hostility. 

Marian  laughed  again  softly.  Her  expression  had 
taken  on  a  peculiar  exhilaration.  The  swimmer  was 
surely  coming  to  her  in  the  dark,  fighting  the  waves 

41 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

with  his  strong  young  arms.  It  would  be  only  a  ques- 
tion of  time.  She  could  easily  make  him  forget  that 
other  girl,  here,  under  the  same  roof  with  him.  And 
before  the  very  eyes  of  his  proud  mother  she  would 
prove  her  power.  The  thought  sent  a  wild  thrill 
through  her.  The  fact  of  opposition  only  lent  a 
piquant  zest  to  a  situation  which  was  indeed  scarcely 
one  she  would  have  chosen,  but  which,  nevertheless, 
was  not  without  its  possibilities  and  its  own  peculiar 
charm. 

"  Noble  deeds  are  best  remembered,"  she  said, 
"when  rewarded  by  valuable  land  grants  and  impor- 
tant official  place,  as  was  the  case  surely  with  many  of 
your  distinguished  early  Kentuckians.  You  see  I  am 
up  on  your  history;  it  is  my  misfortune  to  teach  it  five 
months  out  of  every  year  in  a  school  down  in  Jefferson 
County." 

Mrs.  Boiling  changed  the  subject  mildly  but  firmly. 

"  Do  you  not  find  it  very  dull  in  the  country  in  the 
winter  ?  Or  are  you  too  absorbed  in  your  teaching  — 
except  in  the  case  of  Kentucky  history  —  to  mind  ?  " 

She  broke  off  with  a  perfunctory  smile;  the  question 
seemed  almost  ludicrously  inapt  addressed  to  a  woman 
of  the  dazzling,  dashing  type  that  Marian  seemed  to 
her  to  be;  and  the  sense  of  mystery  deepened.  But 
Marian's  manner  had  taken  on  the  utmost  of  frankness; 
or  of  assurance. 

42 


MRS.    BOLLING   IS   ALARMED 

"Dull!"  she  echoed.  "It  would  be  like  applying 
the  word  to  purgatorial  fires  to  call  it  that  —  just  that. 
And  it  all  simply  represents  to  me  a  means  of  liveli- 
hood, not  the  'holy  and  honorable  and  delightful 
calling'  that  the  candidates  for  superintendent  always 
tell  us  it  is.  I  am  not  inspired  by  anything  grand  or 
heroic,  and  I  am  not  of  the  stuff  that  martyrs  are  made. 
I  should  object  strongly  to  burning  at  the  stake;  but 
sometimes  I  have  felt  tempted  to  set  fire  to  the  school- 
house.  When  the  end  of  the  last  term  was  reached  I 
felt  that  if  there  were  to  be  another  day,  another  hour 
of  such  torture  I  should  have  committed  suicide.  It 
is  a  rather  melodramatic  way  of  making  one's  exit,  to 
be  sure.  But  it  has  its  advantages.  I  went  imme- 
diately after  school  closed  to  a  friend  living  hi  the 
suburbs  of  Cincinnati.  The  visit  meant  to  me  what 
the  few  weeks  meant  that  I  spent  last  summer  in  the 
Kentucky  mountains,  where  I  met  Mrs.  Caldwell.  It 
just  saved  my  life,  that  is  all.  But  even  yet  I  can't 
think  of  that  school  without  a  shudder." 

Mrs.  Boiling's  face  softened.  "  Is  it  really  so  dread- 
ful, my  dear?"  she  asked,  sympathetically. 

"  It  really  is,"  said  Marian,  with  sudden  nonchalance. 

James  set  plates  of  chicken  salad  in  crisp  lettuce 
leaves  before  them  and  went  off  for  beaten  biscuits. 

Marian  leaned  toward  her  hostess.  "It  is  simply 
devilish,  Mrs.  Boiling,"  she  declared.  "Teaching  is 

43 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

a  device  of  Lucifer  designed  as  a  torment.  But  I 
dared  not  express  myself  quite  so  strongly  before  that 
servant  of  yours  for  fear  he  should  think,  from  my 
intimate  acquaintance  with  satanic  methods,  you  were 
entertaining  an  angel  of  darkness  instead  of  an  angel 
of  light." 

Mrs.  Boiling's  eyes  were  pitiful,  but  she  was  thinking, 
however,  not  only  of  the  unhappy  young  woman  forced 
thus  reluctantly  to  earn  her  bread,  but  also  of  the 
unfortunates  under  her  charge. 

"  I  trust  that  your  visit  to  Lexington  will  be  pleasant 
and  restful  to  you,"  she  said,  at  length,  both  repelled 
and  touched.  "Mrs.  Caldwell  is  very  gay;  she  will  be 
able  to  do  a  great  deal  to  enliven  you,  that  is  —  if 
nothing  should  interfere." 

"If  Mr.  Caldwell's  brother  doesn't  die,  most  inop- 
portunely? But  he  will,  of  course;  it  will  be  just  my 
luck." 

"  I  am  afraid  there  is  little  hope  for  him." 

Mrs.  Boiling  grew  suddenly  distant,  and  Marian 
looked  up  fiercely.  But  there  came  a  swift  alteration, 
and  her  whole  being  all  at  once  voiced  an  appeal. 

"  You  are  thinking  me  heartless ! "  she  cried  in  a  tone 
that  was  both  hurt  and  contrite.  "  But  oh,  you  don't, 
it  is  impossible  you  should  understand,  you  could  never 
understand  how  I  have  looked  forward  to  this  visit, 
and  now  just  as  it  had  seemed  to  come  to  me  — 

44 


MRS.    BOLLING    IS   ALARMED 

She  broke  off  and  then  went  on  with  a  little  gasp. 
"My  life  has  been,  still  is,  harder  than  anything  you 
could  imagine.  Before  my  mother's  death  I  taught  a 
country  school  in  Indiana.  We  were  barely  able  to 
exist." 

"You  are  —  you  are  now  quite  alone?"  asked  Mrs. 
Boiling,  very  gently. 

"I  am  entirely  without  encumbrances,"  replied 
Marian,  with  one  of  her  sudden,  flashing  smiles. 

The  quickness  of  the  transition,  the  complete  change 
in  voice  and  manner,  was  something  to  take  one's 
breath  away.  Again  Mrs.  Boiling  changed  the  subject 
abruptly. 

"Roger  has  gone  this  evening  to  the  hotel  to  dine 
with  a  friend,  a  distinguished  author  who  has  been 
visiting  here.  No  doubt  you  have  read  some  of  his 
writings,  and  you  must  have  heard  Mrs.  Caldwell 
speak  of  him.  His  name  is  Waller,  Francis  Waller." 

There  was  an  instant's  intense  stillness.  Marian  sat 
motionless.  A  slow  tide  of  crimson  had  mounted  to 
her  brow,  but  it  receded,  leaving  her  strangely  white 
and  still. 

"I  have  heard  of  him,"  she  replied,  with  downcast 
eyes. 

"He  has  been  staying  recently  with  the  Caldwells, 
and  would  have  remained  longer,  I  believe,  but  for  the 
circumstances.  We  have  seen  quite  a  good  deal  of 

45 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

him.  Of  course  Roger  asked  him  here  this  evening, 
but  he  insisted  that,  as  he  was  leaving  to-night  for  the 
East,  the  other  way  would  be  more  convenient." 

Marian  started  violently.  And  had  Mrs.  Boiling 
looked  up  she  would  have  seen  that  same  swift  look, 
flashed  from  beneath  the  lowered  lids,  that,  for  the 
briefest  possible  space,  Roger  had  caught  sight  of  on 
the  drive  from  the  station  when  he  told  her  of  the 
unexpected  turn  of  affairs  —  the  look  of  some  savage 
thing  suddenly  thwarted  in  its  desire. 

But  Mrs.  Boiling  was  preoccupied.  A  bowl  of 
frozen  cream  had  just  been  placed  before  her,  and 
she  was  concerned  with  serving  it. 

"After  the  train  leaves  Roger  will  go  to  the  cotil- 
lion," she  said,  her  thoughts,  with  customary  maternal 
absorption,  wandering  away  to  her  son.  "  Do  you  care 
for  dancing?" 

"Immensely,"  replied  Marian,  coolly.  She  had 
quite  recovered  herself.  "Not  that  I  have  much 
opportunity  of  indulgence  in  that  line." 

Mrs.  Boiling  put  down  her  spoon.  Her  face  was 
troubled  and  apologetic;  and  she  was  a  little  startled 
by  the  sudden  realization  of  a  state  of  things  she  had 
not,  in  her  preoccupation,  until  that  moment  fully 
grasped.  But  the  tone  was  an  unmistakable  prod. 

"I  am  very  sorry,"  she  murmured,  coloring  in  con- 
fusion. "  It  has  just  occurred  to  me  that  possibly  you 

46 


MRS.    BOLLING   IS   ALARMED 

might  have  cared  to  go  to  the  dance.  But  somehow  I 
had  got  from  Mrs.  Caldwell  in  our  hurried  conversation 
the  impression  —  your  black  gown,  my  dear  —  I  never 
thought  to  mention  it.  I  really  am  very  sorry." 

Marian  made  no  effort  to  relieve  the  embarrassment. 
"  Where  is  the  dance  to  be  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  At  the  home  of  some  friends  of  ours,  the  Fontaines. 
I  might  readily  have  asked  for  an  invitation  for  you. 
They  gave  also  a  large  reception  this  afternoon,  a  sort 
of  farewell  occasion,  for  they  are  going  abroad  to  be 
gone  a  long  time,  I  fear.  I  went  for  a  few  moments 
while  you  were  resting.  I  don't  think  I  ever  looked 
at  a  more  beautiful  girl  than  my  young  hostess  was  as 
she  stood  by  the  side  of  her  courtly  father  and  received 
their  guests.  There  were  a  number  of  men  present, 
most  of  them  contemporaries  of  her  father,  and  I  was 
struck  by  the  polish  and  the  sweetness  of  her  manner 
toward  them.  Sibyl  is  very  high-bred.  I  wonder  —  " 
Mrs.  Boiling  was  speaking  absently,  and  without  the 
smallest  intention  of  imparting  a  sting,  though  making 
an  unconscious  comparison  —  "I  wonder  if  you  did 
not  pass  her  in  the  street  this  morning  on  your  way 
here  ?  She  drove  by  just  a  few  moments  before  you 
arrived,  a  lovely,  dark-haired  girl  in  a  muslin  gown 
and  a  large  hat  of  white  chiffon.  She  and  Roger  must 
have  spoken.  Do  you  recall  it?" 

Marian's  face  had  taken  on  an  odd,  sphinx-like 
47 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

expression.  She  sat  perfectly  silent,  as  unconscious, 
apparently,  of  the  other's  presence  as  if  she  were  quite 
alone  —  and  as  if  the  very  riddle  of  the  ages  lurked  in 
that  rapt,  peculiar  calm.  Presently  she  looked  up, 
and  she  was  smiling,  smiling  softly  to  herself. 
"I  think  I  do,"  she  said. 

After  the  return  to  the  drawing-room  Marian  seemed 
to  feel  herself  absolved  from  all  further  duty  in  the 
way  of  conversation.  She  wandered  restlessly  about 
the  room,  drummed  a  little  on  the  piano,  fingered  the 
books  on  the  table,  moved  from  picture  to  picture,  and 
finally  sank  down  on  a  sofa  in  the  corner  answering 
all  the  while  almost  in  monosyllables.  But  at  nine 
o'clock  there  came  a  diversion. 

A  firm,  buoyant  step  hurried  up  the  walk,  sprang 
lightly  up  the  flight  of  steps  and  over  the  door-sill,  and 
then  darted  through  the  hall  with  the  rapidity  of  the 
whirlwind,  accomplishing  the  whole  performance  in 
such  an  incredibly  short  space  of  time  that  the  two 
women  involuntarily  started  and  turned  their  eyes  in 
the  same  direction.  Then  an  indulgent  smile  over- 
spread the  features  of  the  elder,  and  she  rose  and 
moved  toward  the  door. 

"It  is  Roger,  come  back  to  dress  for  the  dance," 
she  said.  "Will  you  excuse  me  if  I  leave  you  for  a 
little  while?  I  should  like  to  speak  to  him." 

48 


MRS.   BOLLING    IS   ALARMED 

After  she  was  alone  Marian  sat  a  moment  in  deep 
thought,  her  hands  clasped  about  her  knee,  her  gaze 
riveted  on  the  rug  at  her  feet,  her  expression  a  trifle 
hard  and  strained. 

All  at  once  she  rose,  threw  back  her  head,  and  walked 
out  to  the  flower-scented  porch.  Here  she  paused  a 
moment,  and  then,  in  the  same  abstraction,  she  passed 
down  the  steps  and  made  her  way  to  the  front  gate, 
the  moonlight  falling  weirdly  upon  her  hair  and  her 
white  gown,  changing  one  to  gold  and  the  other  to 
samite,  and  thus  enhancing  in  her  appearance  a  certain 
magical  quality  that  made  her  seem  to-night  like  a 
creature  that  had  wandered  out  of  some  old,  enchanted 
forest. 

And  it  was  here  she  was  standing  when  Roger  came 
down  the  walk  a  half  hour  later. 

At  the  sound  of  his  footsteps  she  turned  and  stood 
waiting,  leaning  her  form  lightly  against  the  iron  gate, 
which  she  had  found  open  and  then  had  softly  latched. 
Under  all  her  seeming  languor  there  was  the  impres- 
sion of  energy  quivering  in  every  fiber,  a  sense  of  tension 
expressed  in  a  look  of  almost  breathless  anticipation; 
and  her  eyes  gleamed  with  a  fitful,  eerie  light  that 
gave  a  wild  poetry  to  her  beauty,  and  for  the  instant 
softened  its  mere  voluptuousness  into  something  finer 
and  far  more  perilous. 

He  came  up  smiling,  unconscious,  thoroughly  kindly 
49 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

—  yet  evidently  eager  to  be  off.  But  she  did  not  speak, 
and  she  made  no  movement.  He  could  not  pass 
without  being  guilty  of  a  rudeness. 

He  stood  an  instant  somewhat  taken  by  surprise, 
and  confused  by  her  strange  stillness.  And  then  sud- 
denly, as  if  drawn  by  a  magnet,  his  gaze  rested  full 
upon  her;  and  again,  as  at  the  station,  he  was  rendered 
spellbound  in  the  presence  of  something  that  was  not 
just  beauty  alone. 

Neither  spoke.  Far  down  the  street  the  sound  of  a 
mandolin  and  of  young  voices  blending  with  it  fell 
upon  the  ear,  drew  nearer  and  then  receded,  as  the 
merry  crowd  passed  into  another  square.  Roger  pulled 
himself  together  with  a  start,  and  his  face  was  disturbed 
and  a  trifle  dazed. 

She  lifted  the  latch  and  flung  the  gate  wide,  and  a 
soft  laughter  broke  from  her  when  he  did  not  move 
but  stood  stock-still,  staring  dumbly  at  her.  She 
misinterpreted  the  look,  and  spoke  rashly,  low  under 
her  breath,  throwing  all  the  allurement  of  which  she 
was  capable  into  voice  and  manner. 

"  I  have  had  all  day,"  she  said,  dreamily,  "  since  that 
moment  I  saw  you  waiting  for  me  at  the  station,  the 
oddest  feeling  I  have  ever  known  —  just  as  if  it  were 
not  a  stranger  that  stood  there,  but  some  one  very 
dear  to  me  in  some  other  and  far  more  beautiful 
existence;  some  one  linked  too  intimately  with  my  past 

50 


MRS.    BOLLING    IS   ALARMED 

destiny  to  make  it  possible  for  me  to  be  formal  with 
him  long.  Here  at  least  to-night,  under  that  old  moon 
that  knows  all  secrets,  I  cannot." 

He  laughed  gaily.  But  he  looked  away,  and  a  sense 
of  embarrassment  was  growing  upon  him. 

"Then  you  do  stand  a  little  in  awe  of  the  man  in 
the  moon  if  not  of  his  earthly  counterpart!  A  jolly 
time  the  old  fellow  must  have  of  it  up  there  if  he  has 
to  remember  everything,"  he  responded  in  a  tone  that 
was  definitely  impersonal. 

"Maybe  he  doesn't.  Maybe  he  only  deigns  to 
remember  those  things  that  have  a  force  in  themselves, 
vital  enough  and  powerful  enough  for  resurrection.  I 
know  —  I  know  that  I  have  seen  you  before.  Not 
just  a  photograph  of  you,  not  just  some  one  a  little 
like  you,  but  you,  your  very  self,  you  and  no  other. 
When  you  spoke  to  me  the  very  tones  of  your  voice 
were  familiar.  I  had  often  heard  you  laugh." 

"Can  you  tell  me  in  what  particular  quarter  of  the 
globe  I  happened  to  be?"  he  asked,  teasingly.  "I 
only  hope  it  was  where  clients  were  plentiful  and 
lawyers  few.  That  would  account  for  any  amount  of 
hilarity  on  my  part." 

"  It  was  where  all  lovely  things  have  lodgment,  and 
where  — "  she  hesitated  and  her  voice  dropped  to  a 
whisper  —  "where  I  was  supremely  blest." 

He  glanced  down  the  street,  growing  restive,  yet  too 
51 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

courteous  to  make  the  movement  of  departure  until 
she  should  give  him  the  excuse. 

"Where  all  lovely  things  have  lodgment?"  He 
repeated  the  words  smiling,  yet  a  trifle  wistfully,  as  to 
himself.  "Where,  oh,  where  is  there  such  an  Elysium 
on  this  earth  ?  I  was  half  hoping  that  you  meant  this 
ancient,  highly  respectable,  but  by  no  means  spotless 
town  until  you  said  that.  We  have  several  things  here 
that  could  hardly  be  described  as  lovely." 

"It  was  in  an  even  more  delightful  place  than 
Lexington." 

"More  delightful  than  Lexington?  What  heresy! 
Where  was  it  then?  Tell  me  quickly,  so  that  I  can 
hasten  to  bring  down  the  pride  of  these  old  Lexing- 
tonians  to  a  wholesome  humility  by  your  adverse 
comparison." 

She  slowly  raised  her  eyes  to  his.  "Do  you  really 
wish  me  to  tell  you  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  If  you  will  be  so  good.  Perhaps  it  was  in  Jefferson 
County  ?  "  he  suggested,  gravely. 

She  threw  him  a  coquettish  glance  that  was  yet  half 
contemptuous;  and  she  was  by  no  means  disconcerted. 
Then  she  turned  and  started  up  the  path.  But  after 
she  had  gone  a  step  or  two  she  looked  back,  and  a  low 
laughter  fell  from  her  lips. 

"  Perhaps  it  was  in  my  dreams,"  she  said. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE   COTILLION 

THE  cotillion  had  already  begun,  and  the  band  was 
playing  merrily  as  Roger  Boiling  went  up  the  steps  of 
a  large  buff-colored  mansion  in  a  quiet  quarter  of  the 
town. 

The  house  stood  in  almost  suburban  privacy  some 
distance  back  from  the  street  in  the  midst  of  a  grassy 
lawn,  and  it  was  approached  by  a  gravel  driveway  and 
foot-path  that  wound  under  a  number  of  fine  shade 
trees.  Whether  through  an  association  of  ideas,  or 
because  of  something  inherent  in  its  style  of  structure, 
the  place  always  seemed  to  Roger  as  especially  de- 
signed for  just  such  a  proceeding  as  was  at  present 
taking  place  within  its  walls.  Such  a  debonair  and 
easy  hospitality  pervaded  it,  such  a  gracious  airiness 
of  tone,  such  a  delightful  suggestion  of  good  cheer, 
that  he  never  passed  that  way  at  any  time  or  season 
that  there  did  not  immediately  come  before  his  mind's 
eye  diaphanous  floating  garments  moving  lightly  along 
the  wide  porches  with  their  innumerable  slender 

53 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

columns,  and  he  did  not  hear  in  fancy  the  sound  of 
music  and  of  laughter  accompanied  with  all  the  other 
evanescent  tokens  of  mirth,  half  sad,  yet  sweet,  that 
belong  to  a  young  and  gay  assemblage. 

Not  that  there  was  lacking  a  certain  dignity,  for  the 
house  was  old,  being  one  of  the  many  picturesque  and 
characteristic  abodes  which  early  gave  to  the  town  a 
gentle  grace  of  architecture  that  was  distinctly  Southern, 
and  that  was  destined  in  later  years  still  to  preserve  an 
antique  respectability  in  spite  of  much  unsightly  new- 
ness. But  it  was  a  cheerful  dignity,  and  of  a  somewhat 
different  order  from  that  of  the  other  residences  on  a 
line  with  it.  The  latter  were  stately  mansions,  with 
massive  pillars  and  a  noble  simplicity  of  outline.  One 
of  these,  the  house  on  the  left,  in  particular  —  from 
the  front  windows  of  which  not  even  a  lamp  shone 
feebly  —  seemed  to  rise  in  solemn  reproof  and  nega- 
tion, like  a  huge  white  sepulchre,  from  out  of  the 
shadows  that  surrounded  it,  heightened  as  were  these 
by  contrast  with  the  eleptric  lights  of  its  neighbor's 
grounds. 

Roger  paused  a  moment  and  looked  earnestly  in  the 
direction  of  this  solitary  domicile,  which  held  for  him 
a  peculiar  meaning.  A  sudden  frown  had  overspread 
his  features. 

Within  the  building  before  him  the  band  was  still 
playing,  a  recurrent  sob-like  note  that  is  seldom  absent 

54 


THE   COTILLION 

from  the  most  spirited  dance  music  mingling  in  pas- 
sionate insistence  with  the  sigh  of  the  summer  night. 
Through  the  sheer  curtains  that  waved  a  little  with  the 
coming  breeze  he  could  see  graceful  figures  moving 
with  rhythmic  tread  about  the  long  drawing-rooms  to 
the  left.  Now  and  then  a  silver  whistle  sounded  clear 
and  sweet.  But  he  was  only  vaguely  conscious  of  the 
brilliant  scene;  for  the  moment  his  thoughts  were  far 
away,  grappling  with  the  recollection  of  an  ancient 
wrong  and  injustice. 

Suddenly  the  music  ceased,  and  he  caught  himself 
up  with  a  start.  Then,  with  a  short  laugh  and  a 
smothered  ejaculation,  he  turned  with  instinctive  good- 
humor  to  the  present  and  ran  quickly  up  the  remaining 
steps,  passing  through  the  open  doorway  and  on  into 
the  flower-decked  hall. 

A  middle-aged  gentleman  who  was  that  moment 
coming  down  the  stairs  caught  sight  of  him  as  he 
appeared  on  the  landing  and  turned  with  cordial 
alacrity.  He  was  a  thin,  delicately  built  man,  with  a 
certain  wiriness  that  belied  his  fragility;  and  though 
somewhat  short  of  stature  he  yet  gave  an  impression 
of  elegance  and  dignity.  His  youngish  face  was  smooth 
shaven,  and  the  thin  lips,  as  they  parted  in  a  sudden, 
flashing  smile,  revealed  remarkably  fine  teeth.  His 
hair,  which  was  almost  entirely  white,  and  very  abun- 
dant, was  allowed  to  grow  rather  long,  and  was  brushed 

55 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

back  from  his  brow  in  a  manner  that  gave  a  hint  of 
eccentricity. 

"Ah,  Roger!"  he  exclaimed,  heartily,  extending 
a  hand  as  graceful  as  a  woman's,  "  I  am  glad  to  see 
you,  my  boy.  It  is  always  a  special  gratification  to 
welcome  your  father  and  mother's  son  under  this 
roof." 

All  the  stateliness  of  the  high-born  Southron  of  a 
bygone  day,  the  exquisite  courtesy  of  the  past,  that 
somehow  in  most  cases  seems  to  have  lost  its  fineness 
in  the  hurry  of  our  commercial  age,  the  lavish  hos- 
pitality that  was  wont  to  throw  wide  the  doors  of 
home,  proffering  it  and  all  that  it  contained  to  an 
honored  guest,  all  this  and  more  spoke  in  the  low, 
beautifully  modulated  voice. 

"I  always  feel  it  a  special  privilege  to  come  here, 
judge,"  replied  the  young  man,  very  earnestly  and 
simply. 

A  whimsical  expression  flitted  across  Judge  Fon- 
taine's face.  He  assumed  a  mock  ferocity.  "  But  you 
are  late ! "  he  cried.  "  What  do  you  mean  by  allowing 
all  those  young  fellows  in  there  to  get  the  better  of  you  ? 
They've  been  dancing  a  quarter  of  an  hour  or  more. 
You  should  not  let  your  chances  slip  like  that. 

'  Gather  ye  roses  while  ye  may, 

Old  Time  is  still  a-flying, 
And  that  same  flower  that  smiles  to-day 
To-morrow  will  be  dying.' 

56 


THE   COTILLION 

"'To-morrow  will  be  dying,'"  he  repeated,  softly, 
and  as  in  reminiscent  sadness,  to  himself,  while  a 
shade  of  melancholy  all  at  once  fell  upon  his  features 
and  wrapped  him  in  the  quietude  of  a  peculiar  reserve. 
It  was  one  of  those  moments  when  a  curtain  seems 
suddenly  to  be  lifted,  and  behind  it  all  the  pain  and 
loss  of  a  lifetime  stand  revealed.  But  it  was  only  for 
an  instant. 

"  Go,  my  boy,  don't  let  me  keep  you.  It  is  a  merry 
throng  that  awaits  you  there.  And  it  is  a  fine  assem- 
blage, my  dear  sir  —  a  very  fine  assemblage  —  although 
a  little  confusing  to  an  old  genealogist  like  myself  who 
is  always  listening  for  the  dear  familiar  names.  Too 
many  of  these  are  heard  no  more  in  Kentucky,  and 
there  is  scarcely  a  state  in  the  Union  in  which  the 
children  of  my  early  friends  are  not  wandering,  so  that 
if  the  question  — '  Whose  son  is  this  youth  ? '  —  were 
put  to  me  with  respect  to  many  that  remain,  which 
Saul  asked  of  Abner  concerning  the  young  David,  I 
should  have  to  answer,  as  did  the  captain  of  the  host, 
'  As  thy  soul  liveth,  O  King,  I  cannot  tell.' " 

He  caught  himself  up  with  an  air  of  profound 
apology,  and  again  he  waved  his  hand. 

"  Ah,  but  I  am  detaining  you !  Go  —  go  and  dance 
to  your  heart's  content.  Then,  if  a  young  giant  like 
you  ever  can  know  fatigue,  come  to  me  when  you  are 
tired,  for  a  quiet  talk  in  my  library.  I  am  putting  the 

57 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

finishing  touches  to  another  long  chapter  of  the  history 
to-night.  I  should  like  to  discuss  portions  of  it  with 
you.  In  the  meantime  I  wish  you  a  most  delightful 
evening.  Here  —  off  with  you!  Sibyl  is  waiting." 

With  an  elaborate  bow  he  turned  away  and  moved 
with  great  dignity  down  the  hall,  pausing  an  instant 
on  the  threshold  of  his  library  to  throw  an  affectionate 
glance  in  the  direction  of  a  black-haired  young  woman 
in  ethereal  white,  who  in  that  instant  whirled  past  the 
opposite  doorway,  and  of  whom  it  was  decided  hyper- 
bole to  say  that  she  was  waiting. 

She  was  dancing  with  far  too  evident  zest  for  him  to 
lay  anything  like  that  flattering  unction  to  his  soul, 
and  Roger  Boiling  smiled  a  little  grimly  to  himself  at 
the  bare  suggestion  as  he  strode  into  the  drawing-room. 

It  was  a  very  long  room,  distinguished,  airy,  South- 
ern, with  Corinthian  columns,  and  dark  wood  floor, 
and  an  old-fashioned  crystal  chandelier  of  many  pen- 
dants. The  woodwork  was  white  and  carved,  and 
against  this  the  quantity  of  smilax  that  was  everywhere 
used  produced  a  pleasant  effect  of  coolness  and  green- 
ness. The  orchestra  was  stationed  on  a  raised  platform 
in  front  of  the  open  windows  at  the  rear  that  looked  out 
on  the  garden;  and  in  the  corner  opposite  the  door 
Roger  had  just  entered  there  was  a  round  mahogany 
table  gay  with  baubles,  which  was  presided  over  by  a 
very  imposing  middle-aged  woman  in  black  satin  and 

58 


THE    COTILLION 

lace.  The  girl  of  twenty-two  or  thereabout  at  her 
side  was  blonde,  short,  and  rather  stout,  her  person- 
ality being  in  marked  contrast  with  that  of  the  elder 
woman.  Yet  a  stranger  would  have  known  at  a  glance 
that  they  were  mother  and  daughter.  Despite  the 
dissimilarity,  there  was  still  a  resemblance,  which, 
though  hard  to  define,  was  potent  and  assertive.  The 
other  guests  were  seated  in  slender  high-backed  chairs, 
placed  against  the  walls  of  the  room,  and  they  were 
laughing  and  talking  in  a  lively  way,  throwing,  however, 
from  time  to  time,  furtive  glances  in  the  direction  of 
the  leader,  a  very  young  man  with  a  large  nose,  who 
led  with  a  supreme  nonchalance  and  disdain  born  of 
an  overweening  sense  of  his  own  importance. 

Presently  he  gave  the  signal.  The  band  struck  up 
anew,  and  instantly  a  number  of  dancers  were  on  the 
floor.  Roger  stood  watching  them  as  they  executed 
an  intricate  figure  with  the  abandon  of  high  spirits  and 
the  ease  of  practised  grace,  his  eyes  following  one  of 
the  number  with  the  rapt,  exclusive  attention  which, 
more  than  once  before,  when  seeing  her  in  a  roomful, 
he  had  found  himself  bestowing  upon  Sibyl  Fontaine. 

She  seemed  well  worthy  of  his  notice.  She  was  a 
very  beautiful  young  girl,  with  something  fine  and 
distinguished  in  her  appearance  which  enforced 
her  individuality  in  any  crowd.  But  beyond  this 
there  was  more,  a  certain  indescribable  quality 

59 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

that  gave  tone  to  all  the  rest.  One  felt  instinctively  that 
hers  could  be  no  ordinary  career,  and  that  she  was  a 
being  on  whom  fate  had  set  a  mark,  not  only  in  the 

& 

gift  of  extraordinary  beauty  but  of  extraordinary 
power  to  feel.  She  was  quiveringly  alive  to  her  very 
finger-tips,  notwithstanding  her  outward  poise.  Her 
small  head,  with  its  crown  of  heavy  black  hair,  was 
set  nobly  upon  her  shoulders,  and  she  carried  herself 
with  an  erectness  that  had  in  it  a  suggestion  of  pride 
of  race,  but  was  without  hauteur.  She  was  slim,  albeit 
exquisitely  rounded,  being  one  of  those  lithe,  small- 
boned  women  who  have  the  charm  of  littleness  without 
being  undersized.  As  a  matter  of  fact  she  was  taller 
than  the  average. 

Unlike  others  about  her,  her  face  was  not  flushed 
from  dancing.  She  was  white,  white  as  a  bride 
rose  with  the  morning  freshness  upon  it.  But  her 
dark  blue  eyes  were  sparkling,  and  once  he  heard  her 
laughter  ring  out,  sweet  and  spontaneous  as  a  child's. 
Yet  there  was  a  suggestion  of  seriousness,  of  thought; 
and  at  times  there  was  a  look  of  almost  sadness,  in 
contrast  to  her  spontaneous  mirth,  that  gave  to  her  a 
certain  aloofness,  as  if  a  veil  had  suddenly  fallen  about 
her,  and  that  seemed  to  assign  her  in  all  her  glorious 
youth  to  a  place  apart  from  the  rest  of  those  careless, 
happy  ones. 

Roger  Boiling  watched  her  for  a  moment  longer, 
60 


THE   COTILLION 

and  again  that  odd  smile  hovered  about  his  lips.  All 
at  once  he  turned  abruptly  and  crossed  the  room  in 
the  direction  of  the  favor  table. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Beverley  ?  "  he  said. 

The  lady  in  black  satin  and  lace  finished  with  great 
deliberation  the  assortment  of  drums  and  pipes  and 
silver  horns  she  was  making,  stacking  them  into  neat 
little  piles,  and  then,  very  slowly,  and  with  the  elegant 
condescension  of  an  empress  deigning  to  bestow  a 
mark  of  favor  upon  the  humblest  of  her  minions,  held 
out  her  hand  to  the  young  man,  who  was  waiting 
somewhat  awkwardly. 

"Mr.  Boiling,"  she  murmured,  with  downcast  eyes. 

The  daughter  sat  watching  the  two  unconcernedly. 
But,  as  Roger  turned  toward  her,  she  broke  into  a 
short  laugh  and  shrugged  her  plump  shoulders  a  trifle 
defiantly,  as  in  disregard  of  her  mother's  formality. 

"  I  really  was  about  to  say  '  Hello,' "  she  said. 

"  Were  you  ?  Then  why  didn't  you  ?  "  asked  Roger, 
gravely.  "Since  we  have  discovered  that  we  are 
cousins  —  is  it  fourth,  or  fifth  ?  —  I  think  such  friend- 
liness might  be  allowed  in  my  direction.  Don't  you  ? 
And  isn't  it  what  every  one  says  over  the  telephone  ?  " 

She  threw  him  a  swift  little  upward  glance,  revealing 
a  latent  coquetry  that  blended  oddly  with  her  brusque- 
ness  and,  laughing  still,  made  a  seat  for  him  on  the 
sofa  by  her  side,  sweeping  away  iier  flounces  of  yellow 

61 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

tulle  with  a  dextrous  movement  of  one  hand.     She 
lowered  her  voice. 

"But  I  am  glad  that  I  am  not  talking  to  you  over 
the  telephone,"  she  said,  sweetly.  "  It  would  be  too 
tantalizing." 

Roger  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed  gaily. 

"So  this  is  one  of  the  times  when  I'm  in  luck." 

Again  her  shoulders  went  up  in  a  shrug. 

"  I  want  somebody  to  talk  to  —  somebody  besides 
mama,  and  it  might  just  as  well  be  you." 

"Oh,  don't  spoil  it!" 

"I'm  not  spoiling  anything,  but  you  are  spoiling 
something,  and  it's  my  pretty  gown.  There  —  you've 
caught  your  foot  in  it!" 

He  rose  precipitately,  aghast. 

She  bent  her  head  over  the  billows  of  tulle,  which 
she  had  caught  up,  while  he  watched  her  anxiously. 

Presently  she  leaned  back  on  the  sofa.  But  she  did 
not  meet  his  eyes. 

"Do  sit  down,  Roger,"  she  said,  irritably.  "It 
strains  my  neck  to  talk  to  you.  I  have  had  no  practice 
in  conversing  with  giraffes." 

"But  your  gown?"  he  demanded,  still  disturbed. 
"  Have  I  done  anything  very  dreadful  to  it  ?  " 

"I  can  tell  you  better  the  extent  of  the  havoc  you 
have  made  if  you  will  sit  down." 

He  took  the  seat  beside  her.     "  Now ! "  he  cried. 
62 


THE    COTILLION 

She  looked  straight  ahead  of  her. 

"  It  is  not  serious,"  she  said,  dryly,  "  only  a  tiny  tear 
which  can  be  easily  mended,  I  hope.  But  in  any  case 
I  should  forgive  you.  I  want  somebody  to  talk  to  — 
somebody  besides  mama.  She  is  apt  to  grow  weary 
of  my  society,  and  you  know  it  is  not  possible  to  be 
interesting  to  the  uninterested.  I  really  am  awfully 
glad  you  have  come.  Every  one  is  having  too  good  a 
time  dancing  to  think  about  me,  and  I  am  so  tired  of 
these  idiotic  fans  and  things.  Did  you  ever  see  such 
a  mess  ?  " 

"Judith,  my  dear,"  Mrs.  Beverley  put  in,  reprov- 
ingly, "  the  favors  are  perfect  —  very  simple,  it  is  true, 
but  perfect.  Nothing  is  more  vulgar  than  to  turn  an 
occasion  of  this  kind  into  an  opportunity  for  costly 
display.  Sibyl  has  shown  most  excellent  taste." 

"She  didn't  this  time,  for  she  didn't  buy  them," 
remarked  the  daughter,  pertly.  "That  crazy  little 
Ike  Morrison,  who  has  got  his  head  so  turned  to-night 
that  I'm  positively  uneasy  for  fear  it  will  never  be 
straight  again,  selected  them  for  her  one  day  last  week 
when  he  was  in  Louisville.  That's  why  she  let  him 
lead.  He's  a  perfect  chump." 

"A  chump?  What  — what  is  that?"  Mrs.  Bev- 
erley looked  from  one  to  the  other  of  the  two  young 
people,  with  her  head  on  one  side,  like  a  meditative 
crow.  Then  something  in  the  daughter's  speech  and 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

tone  seemed  to  appeal  to  her  sense  of  humor,  which 
was  in  reality  peculiarly  keen.  She  gave  a  brief  glance 
in  the  direction  of  the  small,  large-nosed,  consequential 
young  gentleman,  who  in  that  moment  was  glaring 
about  the  room  with  the  eye  of  a  general  marshalling 
his  troops,  looked  again,  nodded  slowly  once  or  twice, 
and  all  at  once  broke  into  a  fit  of  laughter,  of  which 
no  one  who  had  not  seen  her  thus  amused  would  have 
believed  her  capable. 

Tears  actually  came  into  her  eyes.  It  was  something 
to  see  Mrs.  Beverley  laugh.  The  combination  of  ele- 
gance and  abandonment  to  unrestrained  mirth  is  a  feat 
rarely  well  accomplished.  Mrs.  Beverley  suffered  no  loss 
of  dignity  in  the  act;  and  when  she  hastily  reached  for  a 
delicate  handkerchief  of  cobwebby  lace  and  gently  ap- 
plied it  to  her  streaming  orbs,  she  was  still  the  refined 
and  impressive  personage  that  she  was  in  repose. 

The  mood  was  apt  to  pass  quickly,  and  it  was  not 
surprising  to  see  her  handing  out  favors  an  instant 
afterward  to  a  waiting  group  without  a  trace  of  merri- 
ment on  her  countenance. 

Roger  had  watched  the  performance  frequently,  the 
daughter's  usual  half  sullen  nonchalance  affording  him 
an  almost  equal  entertainment  with  that  of  the  mother's 
outbreak. 

"But  why  are  you  not  dancing?"  he  asked  of  the 
girl,  presently. 

64 


THE   COTILLION 

"I  can't;  I've  sprained  my  foot." 

"Honest?" 

She  looked  him  squarely  in  the  eyes  for  a  moment, 
and  then  reached  for  one  of  the  trinkets  on  the  table 
before  her,  toying  with  it  for  an  instant  as  if  intent  on 
its  workmanship. 

"Oh,  yes,  that's  perfectly  honest,"  she  said,  at 
length,  demurely,  and  with  a  return  of  her  former 
coquetry.  "  I  don't  know  what  reason  I  should  have 
to  prevaricate.  I  am  very  fond  of  dancing,  and  the 
usual  difficulty  that  is  only  too  apt  to  present  itself  in 
my  case,  this  time  was  avoided.  I  had  a  partner  — 
at  least  it  was  intended  I  should  have  —  all  ready 
made  and  highly  satisfactory,  so  that  I  escaped  for 
once  my  usual  attacks  of  palpitation  of  the  heart  for 
fear  no  one  should  ask  me.  Sibyl  had  a  most  excellent 
arrangement,  and  one  worthy  of  imitation.  Shouldn't 
you  like  me  to  tell  you  who  would  have  been  your  fate 
had  you  arrived  on  time  ?  " 

"  I  should,  most  assuredly." 

At  the  mention  of  his  young  hostess's  name  Roger 
looked  quickly  across  the  room,  where  a  very  pretty 
scene  was  being  enacted.  A  circle  had  been  formed 
of  laughing  girls  and,  in  the  center,  bowing  her 
pretty  head  to  receive  a  little  golden  crown  that  was 
being  placed  upon  it,  stood  Sibyl,  the  focus  of  all 
eyes. 

65 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

He  watched  her  in  a  sort  of  abstraction,  as  com- 
pletely forgetful  of  the  girl  beside  him  as  if  she  were 
removed  to  another  hemisphere.  The  sudden  click  of 
her  fan  as  she  closed  it  abruptly  brought  him  to  himself. 

"  Aren't  you  going  to  tell  me  ? "  he  asked,  quickly, 
conscious  at  last  of  his  rudeness  and  endeavoring  to 
throw  a  special  warmth  into  his  manner  by  way  of 
conciliation. 

But  Judith  Beverley  was  one  not  always  easy  to 
conciliate.  Her  vanity  had  received  a  stab  and,  like 
the  average  woman  similarly  wounded,  she  was  dis- 
posed to  be  resentful. 

"  Perhaps  Sibyl  will  be  able  to  tell  you,"  she  replied, 
with  a  cold  little  laugh.  "It  was  she  who  gave  you 
away." 

She  rose  suddenly  with  somewhat  exaggerated 
alacrity. 

"Here  she  comes  now,"  she  said. 


CHAPTER  V 

HEARTS   ABEYANT 

SHE  was  coming  slowly. 

The  band  had  ceased  playing,  and  a  general  move- 
ment had  taken  place.  There  was  to  be  an  intermis- 
sion, and  already  there  was  a  hum  of  voices  on  the 
porches  and  out  on  the  lawn;  and  from  the  old-time 
garden,  sweet  with  mignonette  and  jasmine,  light 
girlish  laughter  blended  with  the  splash  of  the  fountain 
and  echoed  down  the  fragrant  aisles  like  a  chime  of 
silver  bells.  Within,  some  of  the  more  prosaically 
inclined  were  wending  their  way  toward  the  supper- 
room,  the  doors  of  which  had  just  been  opened  for  a 
continuous  feast  by  a  smiling  and  most  obliging 
functionary  who,  with  his  corps  of  sable  attendants, 
awaited  the  first  arrivals  with  the  confidence  born  of 
repeated  victory  and  the  Kentucky  darky's  unshaken 
pride  in  the  matchless  excellence  of  his  viands. 

As  Sibyl  passed  down  the  long  drawing-room  toward 
him,  pausing  now  and  then  to  throw  a  smile  to  one,  a 
word  or  two  to  another,  Roger  felt  again  that  sudden 

67 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

and  unaccustomed  sensation  like  an  actual  tightening 
of  the  muscles  about  the  heart,  which  he  had  no  words 
to  define  and  which,  with  its  piercing  sadness,  is  apt  to 
assail  the  young  man  of  ardent  and  impulsive  temper- 
ament who  is  yet  on  the  borderland  of  love,  in  the 
presence  of  the  woman  who  has  made  the  first  appeal. 

Hitherto  he  had  escaped  all  boyish  fancies.  Even 
in  his  Harvard  days  there  had  been  no  entanglements. 
Life  for  him  had  been  too  distinctly  earnest;  and, 
notwithstanding  a  particularly  joyous  and  pleasure- 
loving  inclination,  there  was  the  sobriety  that  is  speedily 
developed  in  the  case  of  one  who  in  very  early  life  has 
been  called  to  a  trust,  the  responsibility  that  at  once 
invokes  all  the  latent  manliness  and  chivalry  and 
tenderness  of  which  he  may  be  capable,  that  of  a  boy 
in  relation  to  his  widowed  mother. 

In  some  startling  way  the  sense  of  reverence  and 
protection  that  he  had  so  long  felt  toward  the  most 
beautiful  woman,  for  him,  in  all  the  world,  now 
seemed  suddenly  to  be  transferred  to  one  more  beau- 
tiful still;  and  he  stood  disturbed,  transfixed,  intoxi- 
cated, almost  dreading  the  first  spoken  words  and 
longing  to  break  the  silken  cords  of  an  enthralment 
from  which  he  felt  bound  to  escape.  He  scarcely 
wished  to  know  her  better. 

In  reality  he  knew  her  but  slightly  —  although  he 
had  known  her  always.  When  he  was  twenty-one  and 

68 


HEARTS   ABEYANT 

she  but  a  girl  of  sixteen  or  thereabout  he  had  left 
Kentucky  to  enter  upon  his  university  career.  Of  the 
seven  years  that  had  passed  since  then  less  than  one 
had  been  spent  in  his  boyhood  home.  He  was  deeply 
absorbed  in  his  profession  and,  being  considerably 
burdened  with  cares  growing  out  of  a  straitened 
financial  condition,  it  was  his  custom  to  go  but  little 
into  society;  so  that  the  few  times  they  had  met  since 
her  return  from  college  a  short  time  previous,  little 
opportunity  had  been  given  of  breaking  down  the 
barrier  of  shyness  which  he  was  too  prone  to  set  up, 
and  which  sometimes  made  anything  more  than  a 
surface  acquaintance  with  him  a  decidedly  difficult 
thing. 

But  as  she  came  toward  him  at  this  moment  he  felt 
that  there  had  taken  place  some  subtle  and  mysterious 
change  in  their  relationship  through  the  consciousness, 
which  each  was  intensely  alive  to,  that  this  was  to  be 
their  last  meeting,  perhaps,  for  years.  Every  fiber  of 
his  being  kept  reiterating  the  reminder.  And  all  at 
once  something  seemed  to  nerve  him  to  a  fuller  expres- 
sion of  himself  than  he  had  ever  before  been  capable 
of  with  her.  He  advanced  quickly,  eagerly,  to  meet 
her. 

Her  steps  did  not  hasten,  but  there  was  a  little 
fluttering  smile  about  her  lips,  warm,  intimate,  ap- 
pealing, which  sent  the  blood  surging  into  his  face. 

69 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

She  held  up  a  small  glittering  object,  dangling  it  before 
him. 

"  Will  you  let  me  give  you  my  heart  ?  "  she  said. 

He  looked  her  straight  in  the  eyes,  without  speaking, 
and  then,  as  her  gaze  faltered,  his  glance  fell  upon  the 
trinket  which  suddenly,  and  with  an  expression  of 
playful  earnestness,  she  was  studying  minutely. 

"Wouldn't  you  be  heartless  if  I  did?"  he  asked, 
smiling,  yet  grave. 

"That's  a  very  bad  pun." 

"But  wouldn't  you?  And  do  you  always  throw 
away  the  hearts  that  are  given  to  you  ?  " 

"I  wasn't  throwing  this  one  away.  Besides,  it  was 
given  too  lightly  to  be  fondly  cherished." 

"Is  that  why  you  were  willing  to  bestow  it  upon 
me?" 

Her  arm  dropped  to  her  side. 

"'Or  if  thou  think'st  I  am  too  quickly  won,  I'll 
frown  and  be  perverse,  and  say  thee  nay.'  What  do 
you  think?" 

Her  eyes  were  full  of  laughter  and  of  raillery,  and 
all  at  once  he  met  her  challenge  in  a  sort  of  reckless 
abandon. 

"I  think,"  he  cried,  with  impulsive  ardor,  "shall  I 
tell  you  what  I  think?  I  think  that  you  are  com- 
pletely charming  —  that  is  what  I  think.  Oh,  give  it 
to  me!" 

70 


HEARTS   ABEYANT 

She  had  clasped  her  hands  behind  her.  They  were 
like  two  children  in  their  delight  in  each  other. 

"Give  it  to  me!" 

"But  if  I  do  that,  then  I  shall  be  heartless?" 

"No;  I  will  give  you  one  in  the  place  of  it." 

"  One  that  some  one  has  given  to  you  ?  " 

Again  she  was  dangling  it. 

He  did  not  answer  for  a  moment,  and  when  he  did 
his  face  went  suddenly  white. 

"No  one  ever  gave  me  one,"  he  said,  simply,  "yet 
I  will  give  one  —  some  day.  It  will  not  be  made  of 
tinsel,  and  possibly  it  will  be  disclaimed.  But  it  will 
be  worth  having,  if  for  no  other  reason  than  because 
no  one  else  ever  did  possess  it  before." 

He  reached  out  his  hand  to  her  and,  with  a  low 
laughter  that  ignored  his  seriousness,  she  dropped  the 
little  heart-shaped  thing  into  his  palm. 

But  a  faint  color  had  risen  in  the  clear  white  of  her 
face,  and  she  threw  a  slightly  nervous  glance  about  the 
room.  The  haughty  leader  had  returned,  and  at  his 
command  the  musicians  were  tuning  up.  Gay  couples 
were  hurrying  in  from  outside.  Among  these,  passing 
the  two  near  the  doorway  without  the  smallest  recog- 
nition of  their  presence  and  with  a  distinctly  exagger- 
ated absorption  of  manner,  was  Judith  Beverley, 
accompanied  by  a  young  man  who  had  appeared  just 
before  the  intermission.  They  took  their  places. 

71 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

Sibyl's  eyebrows  arched  with  surprise.  She  looked 
inquiringly  from  Roger  to  Judith,  and  then  back  again 
to  Roger. 

"  What  does  it  mean  ?  "  she  asked.  "  I  gave  you  to 
her." 

He  whistled  softly.  Then  his  expression  quickly 
changed. 

"  Did  you  ?  "  he  replied,  gravely.  "  But  you  know 
that  what  we  will  not  have  ourselves  we  can  scarcely 
expect  another  to  value.  You  can  see  for  yourself 
that  she  is  more  than  contented  with  my  proxy." 

There  seemed  to  her  nothing  to  do  but  to  accept  this. 

"I  didn't  know  that  my  most  unwelcome  society 
was  to  be  inflicted,  and  I  have  been  commiserating 
with  her  upon  another  misfortune  altogether,"  he  re- 
marked, cheerfully.  "  Really,  it  is  the  most  rapid  case 
of  recovery  from  a  sprained  ankle  I  have  ever  seen." 

There  was  such  a  total  lack  of  resentment  in  the 
tone  that  she  smiled  at  his  unconsciousness.  But  she 
didn't  tell  him  that  it  was  at  Judith's  own  suggestion, 
strengthened  by  certain  coquettish  little  hints  of  pro- 
prietorship, it  had  been  arranged  that  the  two  should 
dance  together.  She  turned  away  somewhat  distantly. 

"I  don't  quite  understand,"  she  said,  "but  I  am 
very  sorry  about  it.  I  am  afraid  it  is  going  to  be 
rather  dreary  for  you  all  alone." 

He  took  a  step  eagerly  toward  her. 
72 


HEARTS   ABEYANT 

"  It  won't  be,"  he  cried,  "  if  you  will  promise  some- 
thing." 

The  whistle  sounded  loudly,  imperiously.  She 
moved  away,  but  he  followed.  From  across  the  room 
a  young  man  came  hurrying  toward  them,  his  progress, 
however,  somewhat  retarded  by  the  merry  crowd. 

"Promise!" 

She  paused,  and  he  caught  her  hand.     "  Promise  t " 

"But  what  am  I  to  promise?  You  haven't  even 
told  me." 

Her  eyes  laughed  back  at  his  boyish  tyranny  in  an 
expression  half  mocking,  yet  sweet  and  indulgent. 

"  Promise  that  you  will  come  back  to  me  —  here  — 
to  this  identical  spot,  the  first,  the  very  first  moment 
there  is  another  intermission!" 

For  an  instant  she  hesitated.  Once  more  the  whistle 
sounded.  Her  eyelids  faltered,  and  she  looked  quickly 
away. 

"  I  promise,"  she  said. 

He  stood  quite  still  just  where  she  had  left  him.  All 
his  senses  were  stirring,  yet  he  was  only  vaguely  con- 
scious of  the  wild,  impetuous  throbbing  of  his  heart 
as  his  eyes  followed  her  across  the  long  room  in  an 
intensity  of  gaze  to  which  the  whole  machinery  of  his 
being  seemed  to  make  contribution.  He  was  under 
the  stress  of  an  emotional  excitement  of  the  finer  order; 

73 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

but  with  him  feeling  had  not  yet  passed  into  the  highest 
stage  of  harmony  between  its  human  and  spiritual 
elements.  The  music  of  the  pleading  violins  gave 
accent  to  his  humor.  The  opulent  odors  of  many 
flowers  ministered  to  the  daring  exuberance  of  his 
mood.  He  wheeled  suddenly  and  made  his  way 
through  the  open  doorway,  his  face  set  resolutely. 

Out  in  the  hall  a  grateful  breeze  was  wandering,  and 
for  a  few  moments  he  strode  up  and  down,  teased  by 
the  sound  of  merriment  from  which  he  felt  himself 
excluded  by  the  force  of  untoward  circumstance.  He 
was  boyishly  disappointed.  He  wanted  to  dance  with 
Her,  talk  with  Her,  sit  by  Her  side;  and  he  wanted  it 
all  in  a  way  that  startled,  while  it  left  him  half  ashamed 
of  his  youthful  ardors.  In  that  moment  he  was  not 
eight-and-twenty  —  he  was  barely  eighteen. 

Presently  he  bethought  him  of  the  judge's  invitation. 
He  was  not  expected  so  soon,  he  knew,  yet  he  felt 
assured  of  a  welcome;  and  if  he  might  not  be  with 
Sibyl  herself,  the  next  best  thing  just  then  was  to  be 
with  Sibyl's  father,  without  doubt.  A  moment  after- 
wards he  knocked  softly  on  the  door  of  the  judge's 
library. 

He  entered  a  large,  airy  room,  in  the  center  of  which 
there  was  a  mahogany  table  on  which  a  student's  lamp 
burned,  its  radiance  lighting  up  an  embarrassing  dis- 
array of  books  and  papers  and  piled-up  sheets  of 

74 


HEARTS   ABEYANT 

manuscript.  Before  the  table,  bolt  upright  in  his  high- 
backed  chair,  the  judge  was  sitting  writing  with  great 
enthusiasm  and  delight,  his  fine  brow  serene,  his  face 
algow,  and  his  hand  moving  over  the  rapidly  filling 
page  with  a  nervous  energy  that  bespoke  a  complete 
absorption  in  his  theme. 

He  had  answered  the  knock  mechanically,  forgetting 
in  the  next  instant  that  he  was  not  alone;  but  all  at 
once  becoming  conscious  of  that  subtle  something 
that  makes  known  another's  presence  even  in  the 
midst  of  the  most  intimate  concentration,  he  looked 
up.  Instantly  the  pen  dropped  from  his  hand,  and  he 
rose. 

"Ah,  is  it  you,  Roger?"  he  cried,  with  unruffled 
courtesy,  despite  the  interruption.  "How  long  have 
I  kept  you  waiting,  my  boy  ?  Not  long,  I  hope.  You 
see,"  he  added,  in  a  kind  of  shamed-faced  acknowledg- 
ment of  his  inattention,  and  in  a  tone  of  apology,  "I 
am  apt  —  I  am  apt  to  be  a  little  absent-minded  at 
times  —  a  little  absent-minded.  I  am  growing  old,  I 
fear.  Ah,  well,  I  find  my  heart  grows  young  again  in 
the  stirring  scenes  among  which  I  have  been  roaming." 
Then,  as  if  drawn  by  an  irresistible  magnet,  his  glance 
wandered  back  to  his  unfinished  sentence.  "  Just  five 
more  minutes,  my  boy  —  just  five!"  he  exclaimed, 
quickly.  "  I  am  right  in  the  midst  of  a  serious  business 
here  and,  like  Bach  with  his  dominant  seventh,  I  shall 

75 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

have  no  peace  if  I  leave  off  where  I  was.     Pardon  me. 
Just  five  more  minutes.     Sit  down." 

Roger  took  the  proffered  seat  without  compunction. 
The  judge,  he  knew,  was  always  at  work  upon  one  of 
the  nine  volumes  of  Kentucky  history  he  proposed  to 
write;  and  had  Roger's  visit  not  taken  place  until 
several  hours  later  he  would  no  doubt  have  found  the 
energetic  narrator  of  Kentucky  events  engaged  with 
the  same  "serious  business"  which  long  had  occupied 
his  thoughts.  Seldom  anything  short  of  a  dire  calam- 
ity or  positive  illness  could  induce  him  to  lay  aside 
his  pen,  and  so  small  an  occurrence  as  a  dance  under 
his  roof  was  surely  not  to  be  thought  of  as  sufficient 
excuse  for  an  instant. 

Presently  the  judge  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and 
with  a  long  drawn  "  a — h ! "  laid  down  his  pen. 

Roger  started.     In  truth  he  had  been  dreaming. 

"Ah,  Roger!"  he  exclaimed,  with  his  charming 
smile,  "it  is  not  a  little  task  I  have  set  myself.  Nine 
long  volumes  in  all,  and  as  yet  I  am  only  at  the  outset. 
But  the  truth,  the  whole  truth  of  history  —  whoever 
has  been  brave  enough  and  good  enough  to  write  it! 
Some  one  has  said  that  in  history  nothing  is  true  but 
the  names  and  the  dates,  whereas  in  fiction  everything 
is  true  but  the  names  and  the  dates.  Surely  one  who 
has  set  before  him  the  high  endeavor  of  writing  accu- 
rately of  his  own  countrymen  is  greatly  embarrassed  — 

76 


HEARTS   ABEYANT 

greatly  embarrassed.  To  divest  himself  of  all  bias 
and  friendly  preference;  to  approach  his  theme  as  a 
sacred  thing;  to  set  down  naught  in  malice,  so  that  he 
may  escape  the  snare  of  Marshall,  of  whom  it  is  true 
that  old  scores,  long  slumbering,  found  such  revengeful 
settlement  in  his  pages  that  his  work  has  been  practi- 
cally given  to  oblivion  —  all  this,  and  very  much  more 
than  this,  he  must  keep  before  him,  if  he  would  accom- 
plish even  the  smallest  part  of  the  business  of  a  faithful 
historian." 

Suddenly  Judge  Fontaine  roused  himself,  and  his 
manner  altered  strangely.  "My  boy,"  he  said,  very 
gravely,  "  when  you  recall  the  trials  that  your  ancestors 
endured  to  obtain  this  goodly  land,  does  it  not  seem 
meet  that  their  descendants  should  dwell  together  in 
unity  ?  " 

Roger  flinched,  but  did  not  answer,  all  at  once 
conscious  of  the  drift. 

"We  leave,  as  you  know,"  continued  the  judge,  in 
his  chastened,  formal  style,  "  on  the  morrow,  but  before 
I  go  there  is  something  I  feel  overwhelmingly  con- 
strained to  say  to  you.  It  concerns  your  grandfather, 
Colonel  Theophilus  Hart." 

Roger's  face  blackened.  Had  his  recent  client,  the 
reminiscent  farmer,  but  seen  him  in  that  instant!  He 
was  silent,  and  presently  the  judge  rose,  walked  across 
the  room,  and  pulled  aside  a  curtain  from  a  window. 

77 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

One  solitary  lamp  burned  dimly  in  a  rear  upper 
chamber  of  the  great  lonely  house  opposite.  He 
pointed  to  it. 

"It  burns  all  night  of  late,"  he  observed.  "He  is 
daily  growing  feebler.  I  am  convinced  that  his  time 
is  short." 

A  moment  afterward  he  laid  a  persuasive  hand  on 
the  young  man's  shoulder. 

"  Roger,"  he  said,  haltingly,  "  it  is  a  delicate  subject 
to  touch  upon  —  ah,  a  most  delicate  subject.  But  I 
want  you  to  promise  me  that  you  will  make  another 
effort  to  be  reconciled  to  your  grandfather." 

Roger's  face  was  quickly  turned  away.  His  teeth  were 
set.  The  youthful  glow  had  faded  from  his  aspect.  He 
was  something  more  than  an  angry  boy.  Secret  springs 
of  powerful  feeling  seemed  to  have  been  touched. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  he  answered,  stiffly,  "  but  I  will 
never  again  enter  his  doors.  I  cannot  easily  forget 
his  insults  to  myself,  but  if  I  could,  his  course  toward 
my  mother  —  " 

The  judge  came  in  firmly.  "Ah,  my  son,  but  you 
must  try  to  understand.  Put  yourself  in  the  place  of 
the  old  soldier.  Remember  that  he  never  surrendered 
at  Appomattox,  and  that  your  mother's  marriage  to 
the  son  of  his  dearest  foe  broke  his  heart.  Yet  he 
loved  your  grandfather,  I  have  reason  to  know,  with  a 
devotion  such  as  few  can  conceive  of." 

78 


HEARTS   ABEYANT 

He  went  back  to  his  seat,  and  presently  he  remarked 
in  a  complete  change  of  tone,  and  quite  carelessly: 

"I  don't  know  just  how  he  is  going  to  get  along 
without  his  'little  comforter,'  as  he  calls  Sibyl.  She 
spends  as  much  as  two  hours  of  every  day  with  him." 

Roger  started  violently.  A  sudden  flame  swept 
through  him.  He  sat  studying  the  rug  at  his  feet, 
speechless,  supremely  touched  by  the  hitherto  unknown 
act  of  womanly  sweetness  which,  as  by  a  mere  chance, 
it  seemed,  had  been  revealed  to  him. 

"It  was  at  her  request,"  continued  the  wily  judge, 
"  that  I  have  ventured  to  remind  you  of  his  loneliness." 

Roger  rose.  His  voice  trembled  a  little  when  he 
began. 

"  I  hardly  know,  sir,  how  to  thank  you  for  your  own 
and  your  daughter's  kindness  —  if  indeed  I  have  any 
right  to  thank  you  for  what  you  have  done."  He 
hesitated  a  moment,  and  went  on,  smiling  grimly,  "I 
cannot  hope  that  my  efforts  will  be  successful;  but 
please  say  to  Miss  Fontaine,  if  she  should  mention  the 
subject,  that  I  have  agreed  to  do  what  you  suggest." 


79 


CHAPTER  VI 

GOOD-BT 

WHEN  he  made  his  way  toward  the  drawing-room 
a  few  moments  later  the  band  was  still  playing,  and 
the  dance  was  at  its  height.  Leaning  against  the  jamb 
of  the  doorway,  he  saw  only  Sibyl  Fontaine.  She  had 
grown  whiter  and  stiller  as  the  evening  advanced;  yet 
there  were  no  signs  of  langour  in  the  healthful,  elastic 
form.  As  his  gaze  followed  her,  the  realization  of  her 
departure  on  the  morrow  smote  him  like  a  blow  be- 
tween the  eyes.  He  felt  a  strange  catch  in  the  throat. 
She  was  dancing,  apparently,  in  complete  forgetfulness 
of  his  existence,  although  more  than  once  her  skirts 
had  swept  his  feet  as  she  passed.  A  feeling  of  sadness, 
the  source  ef  which  he  did  not  seek  to  analyze,  began 
to  steal  over  him,  and  the  wail  of  the  violins  grew  loud 
and  imperious. 

He  was  turning  away  when  a  low  voice  spoke  at  his 
elbow.  Sibyl !  The  name  half  rose  to  his  lips  —  with 
all  its  pagan  possibility,  its  serene  silence,  its  tanta- 
lizing mystery;  and  he  felt  as  if  he  were  in  truth  standing 

80 


GOOD-BY 

with  bowed  head  in  the  presence  of  a  prophetess  who 
alone  might  know  his  fate. 

He  saw  her  as  in  a  mist  of  unreality.  He  heard  her 
low  laughter  as  in  a  dream.  Then  all  at  once  there 
dawned  upon  him  the  reason  why  from  the  confused, 
kaleidoscopic  spectacle  she  had  withdrawn  herself,  and 
he  understood  that  she  was  offering  him  the  dance. 
A  light  flashed  from  his  eyes  to  hers.  "Oh!"  he 
exclaimed.  And  then,  without  another  word,  he  took 
a  hurried  step  toward  her  and,  an  instant  afterward, 
his  arm  was  about  her,  and  together  they  floated  out 
into  the  room,  with  smooth,  rhythmic  tread. 

Was  it  a  few  moments  only,  or  many,  that  the  dance 
lasted?  He  never  knew.  He  was  only  conscious  of 
an  exquisite  sense  of  harmony  as  their  steps  blended 
in  perfect  accord,  an  acute  recognition  of  her  nearness 
that  tingled  in  every  fiber  of  him  and  was  coupled  with 
an  almost  reverential  awe  of  her;  while  there  swept 
through  him,  like  the  leap  of  a  cataract,  as  he  looked 
down  upon  the  small  dark  head  that  was  held  so 
proudly,  a  mad,  boyish  wish  that  they  might  go  on 
thus  forever  to  the  music  of  the  sobbing  violins. 

But  it  was  not  the  intention  of  fate  in  the  shape  of 
the  cotillion  leader  that  they  should  go  on  thus  forever. 
Young  Mr.  Morrison,  who  was  a  gastronomer  (which 
is  a  more  civil  term  than  a  glutton,  if  less  expressive), 
being  at  last  reminded  by  the  pangs  of  hunger  of  the 

81 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

savory  viands  that  awaited  his  delectation  in  the  supper- 
room  —  to  the  delights  of  which  his  labors  had  hitherto 
made  him  oblivious  —  gave  the  signal. 

As  the  silver  whistle  sounded  through  the  rooms, 
there  was  a  general  uprising  and  outpouring  in  various 
directions.  The  floor  was  speedily  cleared.  But  still 
Roger  and  Sibyl  danced  on.  The  musicians,  with  a 
twinkle  in  their  eyes,  ignored  the  signal,  their  glances 
wandering  from  the  music  before  them  to  the  two 
supple  figures,  with  crude  but  honest  admiration. 

When  at  last,  with  a  grand  flourish,  the  band  ceased, 
the  two  found  themselves  entirely  alqne  in  the  great 
garlanded  room.  Not  any  other  dancers  on  the  floor, 
not  a  belated  couple  anywhere.  They  stood  facing 
each  other  surprised  and  abashed.  A  delicate  pink 
rose  in  Sibyl's  cheeks,  and  her  eyes  were  shy  and 
downcast.  But  it  was  only  for  the  briefest  possible 
space.  She  recovered  her  grasp  almost  instantly.  Yet 
she  made  no  comment  upon  the  unconventionality.  Her 
manner  was  only  frankly  cordial  as  she  moved  away. 

"  Shall  we  go  into  the  garden  ?  "  she  asked.  "  It  is 
pleasanter  there  than  on  the  lawn.  The  electric  lights 
attract  all  sorts  of  horrid  little  winged  flying  things. 
'  The  desire  of  the  moth  for  the  star '  is  attended  with 
less  annoyance.  I  can  only  stay  a  little  while.  I  have 
all  these  people  to  look  after,  and  I  know  that  that  bad 
little  Judith  isn't  helping  a  bit." 

82 


GOOD-BY 

She  led  the  way  into  the  hall,  and  he  followed  saying 
nothing.  Her  coolness  and  self-poise  seemed  wonderful 
to  him,  yet  his  heart  was  still  bounding  with  varied 
emotions,  and  he  would  have  preferred  that  she  had 
been  a  shade  less  composed.  A  moment  afterward 
she  had  gathered  up  her  silver-spangled  white  illusion 
gown,  and  together  they  were  walking  down  one  of  the 
little  gravel  paths  of  the  moonlit  garden  toward  a 
bench  under  a  wide-spreading  tree. 

"  I  mustn't  forget  to  give  you  this,"  she  said,  reminded 
that  she  still  had  his  favor.  "  You  know  you  disdained 
my  heart." 

"I  didn't  disdain  it.  I've  got  it  in  my  pocket.  I 
intend  to  keep  it  always,"  he  answered,  quickly. 

She  walked  a  few  steps  in  silence.  Then,  as  they 
reached  the  bench,  she  paused,  careened  her  pretty 
neck  and  threw  him  a  little  backward,  sidelong  glance 
that  was  half  serious,  half  mocking. 

"  Always  is  a  long  time,"  she  responded,  with  a  sigh. 
"Here  is  your  little  silver  trumpet.  I  give  it  to  the 
conquering  hero  that  is  to  be." 

He  took  it  eagerly,  holding  it  up  before  him,  and 
examining  its  workmanship,  with  a  whimsical  expres- 
sion on  his  strong  young  face. 

"So  you  want  me  to  blow  my  own  trumpet?"  he 
inquired,  gravely.  "Perhaps  that  is  because  you  are 
afraid  that  otherwise  it  will  not  be  blown.  Well,  I  am 

83 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

not  sure  but  that  the  fellow  who  has  learned  how  to 
blow  it  for  himself  loud  enough  and  long  enough  has 
found  out  a  way  to  succeed.  It  is  one  way.  But  I 
scarcely  thought  it  would  be  your  way,  and  I  don't 
think  I  will  try  it." 

She  sat  thinking  a  moment.  "  I  don't  care  whether 
you  succeed  or  not,"  she  said,  presently,  "  as  the  world 
counts  success.  But  I  do  —  I  do  want  you  to  deserve 
to  succeed,  which  is  better  than  anything  else  I  have 
to  give  you  in  the  way  of  good  wishes.  I  have  a  good 
many.  I  select  that  as  the  very  best  one  of  all  —  as  a 
sort  of  parting  benediction." 

He  looked  at  her  strangely. 

"  Would  it  make  —  would  it  make  any  difference  to 
you  — "  He  caught  himself  up  with  a  start.  Once 
before  that  evening,  to  his  own  consternation,  he  had 
found  himself  upon  the  verge  of  making  love  to  her,  if 
he  hadn't  actually  done  it.  Situated  as  he  was  in  life, 
the  thing  seemed  inexcusable  to  him.  He  had  certain 
distinct,  old-fashioned  notions  of  the  relations  that 
should  be  maintained  between  a  young  man  and  a 
young  woman,  when  freedom  of  expression  is  denied 
the  former,  which  the  average  person  of  his  acquaint- 
ance would  have  scoffed  at.  Yet  he  held  to  them; 
and  there  were  some  things  which  he  felt  a  man  could 
not  do  and  remain  a  gentleman.  Among  these  he 
classed  that  breaking  of  the  spirit  of  honor  while  the 

84 


GOOD-BY 

letter  is  rigidly  adhered  to  which  enables  a  man  to 
speak  of  love  without  binding  himself  to  the  obligation 
that  love  implies;  and  for  himself  he  felt  that  he  had 
no  right  to  assume  any  greater  obligations  than  those 
to  which  he  already  owed  allegiance. 

But  he  was  not  actually  in  love  with  Sibyl  Fontaine. 
The  feeling  had  not  sunk  down  deep  enough.  He  was 
still  able  to  reason  a  little  about  it,  and  even  his  inex- 
perience told  him  that  he  was  safe  as  long  as  he  could 
do  that.  But  his  whole  being  was  going  through  an 
awakening.  For  an  instant  a  door  had  swung  open, 
and  there  had  been  revealed  delights  beyond  his 
imagining.  It  had  fanned  the  latent  flame  of  feeling 
within  him,  which,  a  little  more,  would  spread  beyond 
control.  He  knew  that,  and  that  there  was  need  now 
of  the  removal  of  all  things  ignitable  from  his  thoughts 
as  never  in  all  his  life  before. 

"  It  is  kind  —  kind  of  you,"  he  said,  presently,  in  a 
voice  that  he  tried  to  make  straightforward  and  natural, 
"to  care  a  little  about  my  future.  The  thought  of 
your  and  your  father's  interest  in  me  will  mean  much 
to  me  in  the  hard  struggle  that  is  before  me.  I  know 
that  it  is  going  to  be  a  hard  struggle,  handicapped  as 
I  am  at  the  outset  by  the  need  of  money  —  that  old 
harassment  that  has  driven  many  a  man  into  a  corner 
and  compelled  him  to  compromise  with  himself." 
Suddenly  he  set  his  teeth  hard.  "But  I  shall  not  so 

85 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

compromise.  And  I  am  going  to  succeed!  It  may 
take  ten  years  —  it  may  take  twenty  years  —  before 
I  shall  go  beyond  mere  mediocrity  in  my  profession. 
Then  let  it.  I  shall  work  and  wait.  If  energy,  and 
perseverance,  and  singleness  of  purpose  mean  any- 
thing, and  I  know  that  in  most  cases  they  mean  every- 
thing, I  shall  some  day  accomplish  what  I  set  out  to  do." 

" And  that  is—  " 

She  was  studying  him  intently.  Her  manner  had 
grown  serious,  with  much  of  its  girlishness  fled.  For 
the  moment  she  was  a  woman,  earnest,  thoughtful,  and 
she  seemed  to  be  throwing  her  whole  soul  into  a  con- 
sideration of  his  affairs.  The  reminder  of  her  depart- 
ure was  a  constantly  recurrent  note.  It  had  established 
at  once  a  sort  of  intimacy  between  them  which  otherwise 
months  might  not  have  accomplished  —  forced  the 
growth  of  their  friendship,  as  it  were,  so  that  it  almost 
bloomed  a  perfect  flower  in  the  course  of  a  single  night. 
She  was  very  beautiful  as  she  turned  her  face  toward 
him  in  the  moonlight. 

"  And  that  is  —  "  she  repeated. 

He  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed  a  trifle  ner- 
vously. 

"  That  is  to  be  a  good  lawyer  for  one  thing.  Some- 
times the  thought  of  it  is  over  me  to  such  an  extent  I 
am  half  afraid  that  in  being  that,  as  I  surely  shall  be, 
I  shall  not  be  anything  else." 

86 


GOOD-BY 

"But  there  is  something  else?" 

She  could  not  see  the  flush  that  mounted  slowly  to 
his  temples,  but  she  realized  his  hesitation,  and  under- 
stood it.  He  was  finding  it  a  little  difficult  to  touch 
upon  the  highest  aims  of  his  secret  soul. 

"Yes;  there  is  something  else,"  he  answered,  finally, 
"  and  that  is  to  be  in  a  large  sense  a  Man,  with  all  that 
that  may  mean." 

Her  face  kindled  with  enthusiasm. 

"To  think  of  it,  to  want  to  be  it,  to  strive  to  be  it, 
that  is  to  be  it  already,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 

She  sat  tapping  the  turf  with  the  toe  of  one  little 
white  satin  slippered  foot,  her  head  thrown  back  and 
her  gaze  resting  absently  upon  the  picturesque  pano- 
rama about  her.  Under  the  thick  green  foliage  the 
girls  in  their  white  gowns  looked  like  softly  draped, 
moving  statues  as  the  moonlight  fell  upon  them.  The 
garden  breathed  enchantment.  Near  by  there  was  a 
bed  of  lilies;  not  far  away  a  clump  of  elder  nodded  in 
the  silvery  light;  rose  geranium,  sweet  pease,  carna- 
tions, with  a  hundred  other  scented  flowers,  made  the 
place  heavy  with  perfume,  while  a  wild  tangle  of 
honeysuckle  and  grapevine  and  Virginia  creeper  filled 
it  with  delicious  shadows.  It  was  an  old,  old  garden, 
with  perennials  and  annuals,  peonies  and  bachelors' 
buttons,  gillyflowers  and  marigolds,  arbors  and  trel- 
lises —  a  spot  which  the  judge  and  his  daughter, 

87 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

with  their  strain  of  Gallic  blood,  loved  above  all 
others. 

"  There  is  only  one  pitfall  for  you,"  she  said,  after  a 
while.  Her  expression  had  changed.  It  was  half 
rougish,  yet  there  lingered  a  sedateness. 

He  turned,  expectant. 

"  You  know  you  are  a  wee  bit  impulsive  ?  " 

He  acknowledged  it. 

"And  just  a  trifle  headstrong?" 

He  looked  rueful,  preferring  to  hear  something  more 
like  praises  from  her  lips. 

"If  you  happen  to  want  a  thing,  even  though  that 
thing  may  not  be  the  best  thing,  the  right  thing  for 
you—" 

"  But  the  pitfall ! "  he  cut  in  almost  rudely. 

"You  may  fall  in  love." 

He  was  silent. 

She  too  did  not  speak  for  a  moment,  and  when  she 
did  her  voice  was  very  low  and  sweet  and  earnest. 

"  If  you  should  make  a  mistake  there,"  she  said,  "  it 
would  go  hard  with  you  —  harder  than  with  most. 
I  am  prophetess  enough  to  know  that." 

A  light  leaped  into  his  eyes.  For  an  instant  the 
entire  round  of  his  future  seemed  to  stand  still,  while 
Destiny  waited.  He  opened  his  mouth  and  quickly 
closed  his  lips  again.  A  hundred  invisible  hands  were 
urging  him;  a  hundred  voices  were  whispering  in  his 

88 


GOOD-BY 

ears.  His  whole  being  cried  out  for  her.  Yet  he 
neither  spoke  nor  stirred.  For  once  he  was  not 
impulsive.  She  changed  the  subject  abruptly. 

"It  was  not  very  nice  of  your  Mr.  Waller  to  select 
the  evening  of  my  dance  for  his  departure.  Do  you 
think  it  was?" 

He  gave  a  sudden  start,  like  one  roused  cruelly. 
But  he  answered  lightly. 

"He  was  very  sorry.  It  seems  that  he  had  already 
arranged  to  go  East  on  this  particular  evening  with  the 
beloved  manuscript.  I  do  believe  he'd  step  over  the 
dead  bodies  of  all  of  us  —  if  his  publishers  were  on 
the  other  side;  and  that  is  the  pleasant  remark  I  made 
to  him  when  I  said  good-by  at  the  station.  But  is  he 
my  Mr.  Waller?  I  thought  he  was  yours." 

"Mine?  Oh,  no.  He  is  a  romanticist,  and  a 
romanticist  belongs  only  to  himself." 

"  And  what  on  earth  is  a  romanticist  ?  " 

"A  romanticist  isn't  anything  on  the  earth.  It  is  a 
being  that  inhabits  a  sphere  that  floats  midway  between 
earth  and  heaven,  an  ethereal  region  wherein  the  actual 
never  occurs  —  and  is  never  desired." 

Roger's  eyes  twinkled  with  amusement.  He  whistled 
softly  to  himself  as  the  picture  rose  before  his  mind's 
eye  of  a  rather  heavily  built  man  of  five-and-thirty, 
faultlessly  dressed,  with  an  amber-colored  beard,  cut 
pointed,  a  slight  tendency  to  baldness,  and  persistent 

89 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

eyeglasses.  It  seemed  on  the  whole  a  rather  unsub- 
stantial abode  for  his  friend  Waller,  poet,  novelist,  and 
bon  vivant.  But  he  only  remarked  tentatively: 

"He  told  me  that  he  read  portions  of  the  new  book 
to  you." 

Sibyl  hesitated.  "Yes.  It  is  very  beautiful,  beau- 
tiful as  a  Grecian  idyl,  but  with  a  difference.  He  made 
me  think  of  Theocritus  now  and  then.  Only  Theoc- 
ritus lived  it  all,  loved  it  all,  meant  it  all,  centuries  ago." 

He  was  completely  startled.  Her  delicate  charac- 
terization of  the  man  of  whom  recently  he  had  seen 
much  quite  took  his  breath  away.  It  was  so  clear  cut 
and  so  decisive  —  it  revealed  not  only  the  keenness  of 
insight  which  might  have  come  through  her  college 
training,  but  it  implied  a  dignity  of  soul  that  was  not 
to  be  overthrown  by  flattery.  Moreover  it  seemed 
particularly  wonderful  to  him  because  it  chimed  in 
with  his  own  awakening  thought.  But  even  yet  he 
scarcely  felt  that  he  knew  Waller.  Several  weeks 
before  the  litterateur  had  swooped  down  upon  the  old 
town  from  his  home  in  Cincinnati,  made  himself  com- 
pletely fascinating  to  many  persons,  selected  Roger  as 
a  boon  companion  from  the  first  moment  of  their 
acquaintance,  and  finally  departed  leaving  behind  the 
wide-spread  rumor  that  he  had  wholly  lost  his  heart  to 
Sibyl  Fontaine. 

Roger  was  more  relieved  than  he  was  willing  to 
90 


GOOD-BY 

admit  to  himself  by  her  tone.  It  was  too  calmly 
critical  for  sentiment.  Yet  it  was  without  a  shade  of 
unkindness.  Francis  Waller  had  first  attracted,  then 
puzzled,  and  finally  repelled  him,  the  finishing  stroke 
in  the  way  of  disillusion  having  occurred  that  evening 
when  something  in  the  artificiality  of  the  man  had 
jarred  upon  the  young  Kentuckian's  sincere,  healthful 
nature  and  more  vigorous  mentality. 

"  Do  you  always  read  people  as  clearly  as  you  have 
read  Waller  ? "  he  asked,  a  little  awkwardly. 

"But  he  is  not  diflScult." 

"He  was  for  me  —  at  first;  and  he  is  still,  for  the 
matter  of  that.  I  lack  your  intuition." 

She  turned  her  face  toward  him  and  smiled  as  indul- 
gently as  if  she  were  speaking  to  a  little  child. 

"He  is  of  a  type  that  is  new  to  you,  that  is  all,"  she 
responded,  at  last.  "Yet  it  is  an  old  one  and  it  is 
constantly  reappearing.  He  is  of  the  class  that  Shelley, 
and  Poe,  and  Rossetti  belong  to  —  with  only  a  small 
part  of  their  genius.  In  other  words,  he  is  a  roman- 
ticist." All  at  once  her  tone  grew  grave  and  even 
anxious. 

"  But  you  understand  him  now  —  a  little  better  than 
you  did  ? "  she  asked,  quickly.  She  seemed  trying  in 
an  almost  heartless  way  to  enforce  an  opinion,  in  order 
that  she  might  set  him  to  thinking;  and  womanlike  she 
saw  only  the  one  object  before  her. 

91 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

But  Roger's  sense  of  loyalty  of  man  to  man  made  it 
impossible  for  him  to  say  more.  The  acquaintance 
had  been  almost  thrust  upon  him,  in  a  way;  but  he  had 
yielded,  and  he  felt  bound  to  silence  where  he  could 
not  praise.  He  made  an  evasive  answer.  And  then, 
suddenly,  the  image  of  the  man,  who  all  unwittingly 
to  either  was  destined  to  play  a  most  tragic  part  in  the 
future  life  of  one,  became  blurred  and  indistinct  — 
lost  in  a  more  immediate  contemplation. 

He  leaned  toward  her.  "Oh!"  he  exclaimed,  "if 
only  I  could  talk  to  you  about  life,  about  the  people  I 
meet,  about  everything!  You  are  so  wise  and  so 
thoughtful ;  you  are  not  like  any  other  girl  I  ever  knew. 
But  you  are  going  away!" 

She  moved  back  a  little  and  turned  her  face  from 
him,  but  her  voice  sounded  sweet  and  soothing. 

"Yes;  I  am  going  away,  and  I  am  sorry  that  I  am 
going.  I  am  not  sure  that  my  father  isn't  sorry,  too. 
But  it  will  be  possible  to  study  genealogies  and  write 
Kentucky  history,  with  the  extensive  notes  he  has, 
almost  anywhere,  and  that  reconciles  me.  But  I  am 
going  to  please  him,  and  he  is  going  to  please  me,  and 
I  half  suspect  that  we  are  like  two  old  people  who 
lived  all  their  life  in  the  country,  out  of  deference  to 
each  other's  wishes,  only  to  discover  when  they  were 
about  to  die  that  each  would  have  preferred  to  live  in 
town." 

92 


GOOD-BY 

She  spoke  a  trifle  hurriedly,  as  if  warding  off  a 
danger;  and  it  was  evidently  her  intention  as  much  as 
his  to  steer  his  thoughts  clear  of  the  hazardous.  Yet 
there  was  an  intensity  in  the  very  air  they  breathed;  in 
the  languorous  odors  of  the  flowers;  in  the  fall  of  the 
shadows  across  the  moonlit  sward. 

"Wasn't  it  a  sudden  determination?"  he  asked, 
after  a  while,  unable  to  keep  the  regret  out  of  his 
voice. 

"  A  week  ago  we  hadn't  even  thought  of  it." 

A  wave  of  rebellion  swept  over  him. 

"  But  must  you  go  ?  Why  need  you  ?  It  is  not  too 
late  to  reconsider.  Talk  it  over  with  the  judge  again. 
You  can  telegraph  to  New  York  about  your  passage. 
Tell  him  —  tell  him—  " 

She  smiled  a  little  sadly  at  his  vehemence,  but  she 
came  in  firmly. 

"  It  is  too  late.  We  are  surely  going.  But  if  we  had 
stayed,  I  think  —  I  think  we  should  have  been  such 
good  friends.  We  were  just  beginning  to  know  each 
other." 

He  could  not  speak.  He  sat  staring  at  her  dumb 
and  helpless,  too  acutely  conscious  that  something  fine 
and  beautiful,  which  had  for  one  instant  touched  his 
life,  was  about  to  vanish  to  find  words. 

She  rose,  avoiding  his  eyes. 

"I  am  going  to  say  good-by  to  you  now,"  she  said. 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

"There  will  not  be  another  chance  to  talk  to-night. 
And  don't  come  to  the  station  to-morrow.  I  want  to 
say  good-by  to  you  here  —  in  this  old  garden  where  the 
happiest  days  of  my  life  have  been  spent." 

He  stood  by  her  side  and  took  her  hand  and  held  it 
closely  for  an  instant.  Then  all  at  once  he  dropped 
it  almost  roughly.  He  wanted  to  say  so  much  —  yet 
he  felt  he  should  say  nothing.  The  future,  dark,  un- 
known, beset  with  many  difficulties,  seemed  to  rise 
threateningly  before  him.  He  thought  that  in  all  honor 
it  should  compel  him  to  silence.  It  was  a  moment  big 
with  meaning  for  them  both. 

"  Good-by,"  she  said,  and  mechanically  he  answered, 
"Good-by." 

She  moved  slowly  toward  the  house.  But  when  she 
had  gone  a  few  paces  from  him  she  turned  and  looked 
back.  He  was  standing  just  where  she  had  left  him, 
not  moving  a  muscle. 

She  quickly  retraced  her  steps.  She  came  quite  up 
to  him.  And  then,  as  frankly  and  sweetly  as  a  little 
girl  might  have  done  it,  once  more  she  held  out  her 
hand. 

"  Be  a  good  boy,"  she  said,  as  his  fingers  closed  over 
hers. 

And  in  an  instant  afterward  she  was  gone. 


94 


CHAPTER  VII 

MARIAN'S  SECRET 

TEN  days  later  Mrs.  Caldwell  and  her  husband 
returned.  The  latter,  whom  Marian  had  never  seen, 
and  whose  position  in  his  own  household  she  soon 
discovered  was  voluntarily  more  of  the  nature  of  an 
appendage  than  an  ally,  proved  to  be  a  big  blonde  man 
of  thirty-eight  or  forty,  distinctly  lazy,  with  an  expres- 
sion of  countenance  that  was  almost  infantile  in  its 
bland  sincerity,  a  manner  that  was  noisily  hospitable, 
and  a  tendency  to  embellish  his  conversation  with 
reference  to  incidents  in  the  lives  of  distinguished 
Kentuckians  of  the  past  and  of  the  present  which  she 
immediately  proceeded  to  nip  in  the  bud.  For  motives 
of  her  own  she  had  thought  it  advisable  to  put  up  with 
a  little  of  that  sort  of  peculiarity  from  Roger  Boiling 
and  a  few  older  people  she  had  met,  but  she  saw  no 
reason  why  the  usual  local  characteristic  should  be 
flattered  into  continuance  in  the  case  of  a  person  too 
amiably  inclined  to  resent  her  lack  of  interest.  She 
was  not  sure  that  he  didn't  think  her  a  fool,  however. 

95 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

But  she  was  at  no  pains  to  dispossess  him  of  that 
opinion,  which  he  had  evidently  formed  in  the  first 

hour  of  their  acquaintance,  when  she  had  been  left 

• 
alone  with  him,  while  his  more  energetic  spouse  busied 

herself  with  important  matters. 

The  little  woman  was  all  a-tremble.  The  melan- 
choly event  that  had  been  anticipated  had  occurred. 
Her  husband's  brother,  after  lingering  for  a  week,  had 
died;  and  from  the  depressing  scenes  she  had  witnessed 
she  came  fluttering  back  to  her  nest  like  a  frightened 
bird  that  has  encountered  the  fowler  in  its  flight,  and 
been  startled  in  the  midst  of  its  glad  warblings  by  seeing 
a  companion  fall.  She  had  known  the  dead  man  but 
slightly,  yet  her  tender  heart  had  been  touched;  and 
while  her  distress  was  mainly  for  the  grief  of  her 
beloved  Tim,  as  she  called  her  husband  —  regardless 
of  the  fact  that  his  name  was  Tobias  and  not  Timothy 
—  it  was  genuine  in  its  way,  and  sufficient  to  enshroud 
her  plump  form  in  most  unbecoming  black. 

This  had  involved  something  of  a  sacrifice.  She  had 
just  escaped  being  a  beauty;  and  she  was  shrewd 
enough  to  know  her  insufficiency,  and  to  seek  to  dis- 
guise it  by  wearing  very  picturesque  hats  and  gowns 
that  atoned  by  their  exquisite  daintiness  and  elegance 
for  the  sallowness  of  her  complexion  and  her  quite 
ordinary  dark  brown  hair.  The  latter,  which  was  of 
the  stiff  and  wiry  kind,  only  with  difficulty  could  be 

96 


MARIAN'S   SECRET 

persuaded  into  a  pompadour,  and  Mrs.  Caldwell  de- 
plored her  shortcoming  in  this  particular  more  than 
if  it  were  a  serious  moral  blemish.  The  fact  is  she 
was  not  given  to  any  of  those  secret  probings  whereby 
cognizance  may  be  taken  of  spiritual  flaws.  The  strain 
of  Calvinism  which  exists,  and  is  often  more  or  less 
dominant,  with  many  of  the  Kentucky  people,  despite 
an  obviously  light-hearted  and  volatile  temperament, 
was  wholly  absent  from  her.  She  was  without  con- 
sciousness of  a  weight  of  sin,  or  of  any  greater  moral 
obligation  than  was  implied  in  her  unthinking  attitude 
of  universal  kindness.  But  she  was  one  of  those  beings 
who,  though  seemingly  without  a  purpose,  help  on  the 
world  so  bravely  that  one  unconsciously  places  them  in 
a  category  to  which  they  do  not  belong.  Her  very 
presence  breathed  solace,  and  exhaled  sweetness  like 
a  flower. 

Her  liking  for  Marian  Day  had  its  source  in  com- 
miseration rather  than  affinity.  In  truth,  it  would  be 
difficult  to  think  of  two  organisms  more  distinctly 
opposite  save  in  one  particular,  and  that  was  a  sensuous 
delight  in  ease  that  was  strong  enough  with  each  of  the 
two  women  to  make  existence  without  bodily  comfort 
seem  a  torture.  One  had  had  always  a  nest  lined  with 
reposeful,  downy,  pleasant  things  that  made  life  pass 
as  smoothly  as  a  series  of  happy  dreams;  the  other  had 
had  scarcely  a  nest  at  all,  but  only  an  insecure  perch 

97 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

on  some  bleak  twig  that  threatened  to  break  with 
every  gust  that  swept  it. 

When,  a  year  before,  Mrs.  Caldwell  met  the  odd 
girl  —  exhausted  from  the  strain  of  teaching  and  even 
threatened  with  ill  health,  despite  her  vitality  and 
strong  resilience  —  at  the  quiet  little  Kentucky  summer 
resort  where  the  two  had  passed  a  few  weeks  together, 
her  heart  had  warmed  to  her  instantly;  and  there  had 
then  sprung  up  a  sort  of  intimacy  that  had  continued 
throughout  the  twelvemonth,  finally  resulting  in  the 
invitation  for  which,  if  Marian  had  been  given  to 
prayer,  her  whole  being  would  have  lent  itself  in  pas- 
sionate, clamorous  appeal.  As  it  was  she  simply 
longed  for  it  ceaselessly  —  in  the  school-room,  while 
she  paced  with  impatient,  pantherish  movement  up 
and  down  her  small  confines,  in  the  cheerless  bedroom 
of  the  farmhouse  where  she  boarded,  with  its  hideous 
American  oak  furniture  and  ingrain  carpet,  or  out 
under  the  open  skies,  where  alone  she  felt  herself  not 
a  captive. 

Strongly  impressed  with  the  idea  that  the  world 
owed  her  much  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  it  had  persist- 
ently doled  her  out  but  little,  she  had  clung,  in  the 
midst  of  all  restrictions,  to  a  belief  in  her  own  inherent 
force  and  the  potency  of  her  beauty,  never  for  one 
moment  having  lost  faith  in  either,  or  in  what  as  the 
result  of  a  combined  effort  they  might  do  for  her.  It 

98 


MARIAN'S   SECRET 

had  appeared  that  an  opportunity  had  come  at  last, 
and  her  brain  had  teemed  with  potentialities  —  one 
above  all  others.  So  that  to  her  self-centered  view  it 
had  seemed  a  hard  blow,  one  of  those  merciless  acts  of 
fate  that  made  her  feel  herself  a  mere  puppet  in  the 
hands  of  a  malevolent  power,  when  Death  cut  short 
her  anticipations,  forced  her  hostess  into  retirement, 
and  herself  into  the  formulation  of  a  plan  of  action 
limited  and  in  some  respects  distasteful. 

Mrs.  Caldwell  was  regretful,  but  helpless.  What 
was  even  more  discouraging  to  poor  Marian,  still 
clutching  at  straws,  she  was  resigned.  The  various 
plans  she  had  formed  having  been  frustrated,  the 
healthful  but  distinctly  commonplace  mind  of  the 
little  woman  immediately  proceeded  to  adjust  itself  to 
existing  conditions.  The  visit  must  necessarily  be  a 
quiet  one  —  that,  of  course,  was  to  be  accepted  at 
once  —  but  she  hoped  by  a  particularly  careful  atten- 
tion to  all  details  relating  to  the  physical  enjoyment  of 
her  guest  to  make  the  time  pass  pleasantly,  in  spite  of 
the  disappointment;  and  she  trusted  to  the  luxurious 
living  she  was  able  to  offer  to  compensate  in  a  measure 
for  the  loss  of  more  exciting  experience. 

Breakfast  was  to  be  deferred  an  hour  every  day,  by 
way  of  carrying  out  the  idea  in  one  direction,  and 
the  servants  were  required  to  move  with  lightest  foot- 
fall about  the  house  lest  Marian's  repose  should  be 

99 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

disturbed.  Then,  an  elaborate  menu  for  each  meal  was 
devised,  and  countless  other  minutiae  of  a  similar  kind 
considered  with  which  ordinarily  Mrs.  Caldwell  was 
not  wont  especially  to  concern  herself,  her  Tim's  taste 
being  of  the  simplest.  All  of  which  Marian  Day, 
though  by  no  means  averse  to  such  amenities,  found 
intensely  irritating,  under  the  existing  state  of  things. 

On  the  morning  after  the  Caldwells'  return,  the  two 
women  were  still  loitering  in  the  little  green  and  white 
breakfast-room,  where  the  usual  bountiful  repast  with 
which  the  Kentuckian  begins  his  day  had  been  far 
surpassed  by  the  delicious  meal  that  had  been  served. 
It  was  after  ten,  and  Mr.  Caldwell,  having  attempted 
a  languid  joke  or  two  followed  by  an  ever  ready  anec- 
dote (to  all  of  which  Marian  had  turned  an  unrespon- 
sive countenance),  had  finally  betaken  himself  to  his 
law  office,  mindful,  if  not  of  numerous  clients  awaiting 
him,  at  least  of  the  pleasant  friends  who  doubtless 
would  drop  in,  as  the  day  advanced,  to  offer  expression 
of  condolence  and  chat  over  the  latest  news  of  the 
town  and  of  the  state. 

As  his  heavy  footfall  echoed  down  the  shady  walk  to 
the  gate,  Mrs.  Caldwell  sprang  to  the  window,  drew 
back  a  corner  of  the  blind,  and  watched  him  lovingly. 
A  little  gleeful  laugh  broke  from  her,  and  the  movement 
was  spontaneous  as  a  child's.  He  saw  her  and  waved 
his  hand  to  her,  and  she  kissed  hers  in  return.  A  smile 

100 


MARIAN'S   SECRET 

was  still  lingering  about  her  lips  when  she  came  back, 
airily  trailing  her  white  dimity  morning  dress,  which 
the  privacy  of  her  own  breakfast  table  had  permitted 
her  to  wear  in  exchange  for  the  ugly  black  reserved  for 
more  formal  occasions.  Her  spirits  were  somewhat 
recovered  after  the  night's  rest;  and  she  was  like  a  fine 
bit  of  porcelain  bric-a-brac  in  her  Watteau-like  gown, 
as  she  again  seated  herself  in  one  of  the  high-backed 
chairs,  pushed  away  the  laces  of  her  elbow  sleeves, 
and  then  leaned  her  plump  arms  on  the  table  and 
clasped  her  hands. 

"You  mustn't  mind  him,  dearie,"  she  said,  with  her 
pretty  lisp;  "he  simply  can't  help  teasing  every  one 
he  knows.  He  even  attempted  a  joke  once  with 
Colonel  Theophilus  Hart,  Roger's  grandfather.  If 
you  had  seen  the  indignant  stare  the  insulted  old 
gentleman  gave  him,  you'd  have  thought  he'd  been 
cured  for  life.  He  just  wasn't.  But  he  has  let  you 
off  easily.  He  is  not  himself." 

Marian  groaned  inwardly;  the  prospect  of  what 
awaited  her  when  Tim  should  be  himself  again  was 
not  alluring. 

"He  really  is  so  distressed,"  continued  Mrs.  Cald- 
well,  "broken-hearted,  my  dear.  He  loved  his  brother 
better  than  any  body  in  all  the  world  after  me,  and 
oh,  — "  the  brown  eyes  began  filling  with  tears,  "  it 
was  all  so  sudden,  and  so  sad  and  so  pitiful!" 

101 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

Sympathy  not  being  at  Marian's  command,  there 
was  silence.  Mrs.  Caldwell  leaned  her  cheek  against 
her  hands.  After  a  while  she  looked  up. 

"Now  tell  me  a  little  about  yourself,"  she  said, 
resolutely.  "  Whom  did  you  meet  at  the  Boilings'  ?  " 

Marian  stifled  a  yawn. 

"  I  met  a  very  imposing  personage  and  her  daughter. 
The  mother  looked  and  held  herself  as  if  her  rightful 
place  had  been  a  throne.  The  daughter  had  the 
manner  of  a  pert  little  lady's  maid  in  a  second-rate 
play.  They  drove  up  in  all  their  grandeur  and  swept 
into  Mrs.  Boiling's  with  an  air  that  rapidly  reduced 
me  to  the  condition  of  the  Queen  of  Sheba  after  she 
had  surveyed  the  glories  of  Solomon.  There  was  no 
more  spirit  in  me." 

"Judith  and  Mrs.  Beverley!"  shrieked  Mrs.  Cald- 
well, choking  with  laughter. 

"  I  liked  the  mother,"  coolly  observed  Marian,  taking 
one  of  the  long-stemmed  roses  from  the  bowl  on  the 
table,  and  ruthlessly  pulling  it  to  pieces.  "I  thought 
she  was  —  well,  the  real  thing." 

"They  are  extremely  nice  people,  my  dear,"  re- 
marked Mrs.  Caldwell,  very  seriously,  and  with  a 
hint  of  caution. 

Marian  flung  away  the  rose.  "The  daughter  is  a 
spiteful  little  cat,"  she  commented,  carelessly.  "And 
she  has  atrocious  manners.  She  plumped  herself  down 

102 


MARIAN'S   SECRET 

into  the  most  comfortable  chair  in  the  room,  fixed  her 
eyes  on  a  photograph  of  Mr.  Boiling  that  happened  to 
be  on  the  table,  and  proceeded  to  ply  me  with  more 
questions  about  him  than  I  could  have  answered  if  she 
had  given  me  a  week  —  or  a  life-time." 

"Poor  girl!  She  is  simply  daft  about  Roger.  And 
the  dear  boy  hasn't  even  a  suspicion." 

"Don't  you  believe  it.  If  she  is  daft  about  him, 
depend  upon  it  he  has  a  suspicion.  Men  are  not  so 
innocent." 

"  At  any  rate  he  has  never  shown  her  anything  more 
than  ordinary  civility,  I  am  perfectly  sure  of  that. 
Roger  is  not  of  the  flirtatious  kind." 

"Perhaps  his  affections  are  already  ensnared,"  sug- 
gested Marian,  enigmatically. 

Mrs.  Caldwell  started  violently,  and  gave  the  girl  a 
searching  glance.  Of  course  Marian's  reference  could 
not  be  to  herself.  But  a  little  secret  fear  seemed  all  at 
once  to  rise  up  and  confront  her,  and  she  was  conscious 
of  a  misgiving.  She  thought  of  Mrs.  Boiling,  suave, 
unapproachable,  as  fixed  in  her  inward  purpose  as  in 
her  outward  conventionality,  and  the  feeling  of  uneasi- 
ness deepened. 

"Oh,  doubtless  you  have  heard  the  rumor  about 
him  and  Sibyl  Fontaine,  "she  said,  a  trifle  nervously, 
but  tentatively. 

Marian  bit  her  lips  and  looked  away. 
103 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

"  I  have  heard  nothing,"  she  said. 

"  The  fact  is,"  observed  Mrs.  Caldwell,  quickly,  with 
illy  attempted  lightness,  "  Roger  is  scarcely  so  situated 
at  present  to  take  unto  himself  a  wife  and  I  don't  believe 
he  is  thinking  of  anything  of  the  kind.  But  it  would  be 
a  very  delightful  consummation  both  to  Mrs.  Boiling 
and  Judge  Fontaine  if  Sibyl  and  he  should  some  day 
fancy  each  other.  Sibyl  is  the  loveliest  girl  you  ever 
saw,  my  dear.  I  wish  you  might  have  known  her." 

An  impatient  flush  had  swept  into  Marian's  cheek, 
but  she  only  drummed  lightly  on  the  table  with  her 
fingers  and  waited  for  Mrs.  Caldwell  to  proceed. 

The  latter  shrank  perceptibly  under  the  cool,  in- 
quiring gaze  that  was  leveled  upon  her. 

"It  isn't  that  Roger  hasn't  been  remarkably  suc- 
cessful," she  declared,  with  a  slight  change  of  base. 
"  Oh,  I  wouldn't  have  you  misunderstand  about  that, 
my  dear,  for  anything.  It  would  do  him  a  great 
injustice,  and  I  am  devoted  to  him.  He  really  is 
wonderful,  so  thoughtful  and  steady,  and  such  a 
splendid  worker.  Tim  says  all  the  lawyers  speak  well 
of  him,  and  he  really  is  regarded  as  the  most  prom- 
ising man  of  his  age  at  the  bar.  He  seldom  goes  any- 
where, and  he  just  studies,  studies,  studies  all  the  time. 
But  of  course  he  is  still  only  at  the  first  stage  of  his 
profession,  and  the  law  is  not  a  gold  mine,  as  Tim  and 
I  have  reason  to  know." 

104 


MARIAN'S   SECRET 

She  broke  off  with  a  little  laugh  and  then,  before 
Marian  could  say  anything,  began  again,  deliberately 
keeping  the  ball  in  her  own  hands. 

"His  mother  simply  adores  him.  She  is  intensely 
ambitious  for  him,  and  she  thinks  he  is  already  a  great 
man.  I  am  not  sure  that  I  don't  agree  with  her. 
There  is  something  —  oh,  don't  you  know  —  so  big 
and  earnest  and  —  and  hopeful  about  Roger.  He 
makes  you  feel  as  if  the  world  were  young  again,  and 
life  offered  a  boundless  opportunity  for  every  living 
thing.  Down  in  your  secret  soul  you  may  doubt  it, 
but  you  don't  doubt  it  when  you  are  with  him.  He  is 
a  tonic  to  the  disappointed." 

An  odd  smile  flitted  across  Marian's  features. 

"  I  think  he  is  a  little  like  that,"  she  assented. 

"  But  of  course  his  future  is  a  most  uncertain  thing," 
Mrs.  Caldwell  supplemented,  hurriedly.  "They  have 
had  many  reverses.  His  father's  affairs  were  a  good 
deal  complicated,  and  in  recent  years  they  have  been 
compelled  to  practise  a  most  tiresome  economy.  Tim 
says  that  since  Roger  took  the  management  of  the 
situation  into  his  own  hands  their  prospects  seem 
brighter.  They  had  always  been  wealthy  people,  as 
we  count  wealth  in  the  South,  and  it  has  been  hard  for 
Mrs.  Boiling  to  know  how  to  resort  to  some  of  the 
makeshifts  that  poverty  compels  one  to.  But  no  one 
ever  heard  a  complaint  from  her.  'De  thorybreds 

105 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

goes  wid  dey  haids  up  till  dey  drap,'  is  what  an  old 
darky  once  said,  and  it  certainly  is  applicable  to  Mrs. 
Boiling.  You  know  Colonel  Hart  disinherited  her 
when  she  married  Roger's  father.  Old  pepper-box! 
He  has  between  five  and  six  hundred  thousands  — 
which  is  riches  for  Kentucky;  but  not  a  red  cent  is  to 
be  looked  for  from  him." 

And  having  said  as  much  the  little  woman  leaned 
back  in  her  chair  and  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief.  After 
all,  she  did  have  a  conscience.  But  at  the  moment  it 
was  being  exercised  more  in  relation  to  her  friends  the 
Boilings  than  to  Marian  Day.  As  far  as  Marian  was 
concerned  what  she  had  said  had  been  rather  in  the 
nature  of  an  appeal  than  of  a  warning.  She  shared 
the  girl's  confidence  in  herself,  little  doubting  the 
potency  of  the  most  intense  and  vivid  personality  she 
had  ever  known;  and  she  herself  had  to  such  an 
extent  come  under  the  spell  of  its  fascination  as  to 
dread  its  strength  a  little  when  exerted  for  masculine 
admiration.  So  she  had  kept  back  nothing.  And 
while  her  high  breeding  revolted  from  such  discus- 
sion of  her  friends,  she  had  felt  that  there  was  no 
escape. 

She  sat  tapping  the  floor  with  her  tiny  French-heeled 
slipper,  feeling  particularly  virtuous.  She  even  hummed 
a  little  air  to  herself,  as  she  watched  a  ray  of  sunlight 
tangling  itself  in  Marian's  luxuriant  auburn  hair.  All 

106 


MARIAN'S   SECRET 

at  once  she  leaned  over  and  kissed  the  girl  softly  on 
the  cheek. 

"  I  love  you ! "  she  exclaimed,  "  and  how  could  any- 
body help  it?" 

There  was  something  in  the  girl's  tropical  beauty, 
the  soft  tints  of  her  beautiful  flesh,  her  volcanic  nature 
smouldering  under  her  sullen  silences,  and  the  per- 
petual warring  of  her  spirit  against  the  indignities  that 
life  had  offered,  which  Mrs.  Caldwell  felt  and  responded 
to,  without  even  dimly  comprehending  what  such 
things  stood  for  or  realizing  that  their  effect  upon 
herself  was  distinctly  sensuous.  Marian  was  a  mystery 
she  had  not  sought  to  solve;  and  she  was  in  no  sense 
an  analyst. 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  of  Francis  Waller  ?  "  she  inquired, 
presently,  with  an  air  of  carelessness  that  was  intended 
to  give  the  impression  that  no  motive,  none,  whatever, 
was  back  of  anything  she  had  just  said  in  reference  to 
Roger  Boiling  and  his  affairs.  "I  mean  as  an  indi- 
vidual, of  course,  not  as  an  author." 

Marian's  face  took  on  a  peculiar  expression.  She 
was  finding  Mrs.  Caldwell  most  amusingly  transparent, 
but  she  gave  no  sign.  She  did  not  answer  for  a  mo- 
ment and,  when  she  did,  her  voice  was  low  and  tense, 
and  her  reply  was  very  much  to  the  point. 

"  I  have  heard  of  him,"  she  said,  "  and  I  have  read 
all  of  his  books,  every  line  of  them,  every  word  of 

107 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

them.  I  have  even  read  every  little  scrap  of  prose  or 
verse  he  has  ever  published  that  isn't  in  a  book.  I  am 
always  looking  out  for  him  in  the  magazines,  and  I 
have  wanted  to  know  him  more  than  anybody  I  ever 
heard  of  in  all  my  life." 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Caldwell,  opening  her  eyes 
wide,  "Oh!" 

She  twisted  her  rings  nervously  and  looked  disturbed. 
"How  strange!"  she  exclaimed,  at  length,  "How  very 
strange  that  you  should  think  of  him  like  that,  when  it 
is  precisely — "  all  at  once  she  broke  off  —  "but  of 
course  it  is  no  good  going  back  to  anything  of  that 
kind  —  now." 

Her  practical  mind  would  have  dismissed  the  subject 
at  once,  but  Marian  persisted. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  inquired,  quickly. 

Mrs.  Caldwell  broke  into  a  laugh.  She  turned  her 
head  to  one  side,  and  looked  at  Marian  archly.  "  Before 
—  before  all  my  little  schemes  vanished  into  air,  I  had 
thought  to  have  him  here  quite  a  good  deal  this  summer. 
He  is  in  Lexington  off  and  on,  visiting  people  he 
knows  in  the  town,  or  at  some  of  the  country  places, 
and  he  has  just  been  here.  But  his  own  home  is  in 
Cincinnati." 

"Yes;  I  know,"  said  Marian.  A  deep  glow  was 
burning  in  her  cheeks,  and  her  eyes  were  eagerly 
insistent. 

108 


MARIAN'S   SECRET 

"  It  is  the  most  beautiful  place,  my  dear,"  remarked 
Mrs.  Caldwell,  carelessly,  "quite  a  palace.  And  he 
is  all  alone  —  not  a  near  relative  in  the  world,  he 
told  me,  except  a  married  sister  who  lives  in  New 
York." 

"I  know,"  said  Marian  again. 

"  I  have  sometimes  wondered  why  he  is  still  unmar- 
ried," mused  Mrs.  Caldwell.  "If  you  could  just  see 
that  house,  my  dear!" 

Marian  looked  up.  "I  have  seen  it,"  she  replied. 
"  I  once  drove  by  it  with  a  friend.  It  is  something  to 
remember  —  and  to  dream  of,  just  from  the  outside 
even." 

A  servant  entered  with  letters,  and  Mrs.  Caldwell 
reached  forth  a  hand  mechanically. 

"It  is  more  beautiful  still  on  the  inside,  I  am  told. 
I  have  never  been  there,  though  he  has  often  invited 
me.  He  had  planned  to  have  me  come  this  summer 
and  bring  you  for  a  week,  with  a  gay  house  party  he 
intended  to  have,  and  I  had  accepted.  Of  course 
afterwards  I  had  to  decline  for  myself,  but  I  meant  to 
send  you.  Then,  when  he  found  I  was  not  to  be 
depended  on,  he  changed  his  mind  about  the  house 
party  altogether,  and  now  he  writes  me  from  the  East 
that  he  doesn't  know  when  he'll  be  back  in  Kentucky 
again." 

She  was  still  rummaging  among  the  letters,  her 
109 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

thoughts,  with  characteristic  readiness,  shifting  imme- 
diately to  other  things  at  sight  of  the  half-dozen  mis- 
sives she  should  have  to  answer. 

"None  for  you,  Marian.  Shall  you  mind  if  I  look 
over  these  ?  Here  is  one  from  an  old,  old  lady,  Tim's 
great-aunt,  who  lives  in  Richmond,  Virginia.  She 
remembers  everything  that  ever  happened  since  the 
flood,  and  she  is  rather  entertaining.  Out  of  deference 
to  age,  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  read  hers  first.  I 
wrote  to  her  from  Frankfort,  telling  her  of  our  sorrow, 
and  about  you,  and  oh,  lots  of  things.  You  see  she 
appreciated  it.  She  replied  at  once,  and  she  has  sent 
me  a  volume." 

Marian  rose.  At  the  end  of  the  room  there  was  a 
little  glass  door  leading  by  a  flight  of  steps  into  the 
garden.  She  gave  a  strange  glance  at  Mrs.  Caldwell, 
who  was  already  absorbed  in  her  letter,  completely 
forgetful  of  all  else,  and  then  crossed  the  room  quickly, 
passing  out  by  way  of  the  little  glass  door.  She  could 
scarcely  have  trusted  herself  to  speak,  and  she  wanted 
to  be  alone.  There  was  a  vine-covered  summer-house 
in  the  garden,  and  she  made  her  way  to  it,  with  the 
instinct  of  a  wounded  animal. 

Hot,  bitter  tears  were  blinding  her  eyes.  A  sense  of 
passionate  rebellion  gnawed  at  her  breast  and  filled 
her  with  impotent  rage  —  against  Mrs.  Caldwell,  her 
destiny,  everything  in  life.  For  one  little  moment,  it 

110 


MARIAN'S   SECRET 

seemed,  the  wheel  of  fortune  had  hesitated.  Then 
it  had  revolved  and  the  glittering  prize  she  longed  for 
had  appeared,  only  to  vanish  an  instant  afterward, 
leaving  her  startled,  maddened  with  disappointment, 
and  desperate. 

She  sat  down  on  the  bench  in  the  summer-house  and 
clasped  her  hands,  staring  straight  ahead  of  her  and 
recalling  word  by  word  all  that  had  just  been  said. 
Picture  after  picture  rose  before  her  of  what  might 
have  been.  Her  old,  unhappy  past  seemed  to  fade 
away,  and  she  lost  herself  in  contemplation  of  the 
gilded  existence  which  she  felt  had  almost  been  hers. 
Her  heart  was  pounding  heavily,  and  her  cheeks  were 
flushed.  One  moment  she  was  all  fire  and  spirit  and 
audacity,  confident  to  her  very  finger-tips;  the  next 
defeat,  dejection  showed  in  every  muscle  of  her  volup- 
tuous form,  in  every  line  of  her  beautiful  face.  She 
felt  herself  strong  to  cope  with  circumstance,  yet 
powerless  in  the  hands  of  fate. 

The  garden  was  very  small,  consisting  only  of  a 
flower-bed  or  two,  several  fruit  trees  and  a  few  shrubs, 
and  the  near-by  voices  of  the  servants  at  work  in  the 
kitchen  and  in  the  laundry  jarred  painfully  on  her 
strained  nerves.  Everything  jarred:  the  little  plot 
smiling  like  a  happy  child  in  the  merry  sunshine;  the 
bees  humming  in  the  honeysuckle  vines;  the  birds 
carolling  in  the  fruit  trees.  No  blight  had  fallen  on 

111 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

leaf  or  flower  to  frustrate  nature's  promises.  The 
sight  of  such  fulfilment  only  drove  her  to  a  more 
miserable  revolt. 

She  had  been  there  but  a  little  while  when  some- 
thing happened  that  gave  startling  interruption  to  her 
thoughts,  and  brought  her  to  herself  like  an  unexpected 
thunderbolt. 

All  at  once  she  heard  her  name  called  once,  twice, 
in  a  peculiar  tone  from  the  doorway  of  the  little  break- 
fast-room. Then,  without  waiting  for  a  reply,  Mrs. 
Caldwell  gathered  up  her  skirts  and  came  hurrying 
toward  the  summer-house,  agitated  and  breathless. 

Marian  sprang  to  her  feet;  a  sudden  apprehension 
of  danger,  of  something  indeterminate,  yet  terrible  and 
imminent  to  herself,  had  instantly  taken  possession  of 
her.  She  did  not  pass  out  of  the  summer-house  but 
stood  waiting,  her  arms  hanging  loosely  at  her  sides, 
her  chest  expanded,  and  her  head  thrown  back. 

Mrs.  Caldwell  was  white  and  palpitating.  She  held 
in  her  hand  the  letter  which  she  had  evidently  just 
finished  reading,  and  she  glanced  at  it  and  then  toward 
Marian  several  times  without  speaking.  The  breeze 
kept  fluttering  the  loose  pages,  but  she  clutched  them 
tightly.  A  frightened  look  was  in  her  eyes,  and  her 
voice  broke  when  she  spoke  at  last. 

She  thrust  the  letter  into  the  girl's  hands  with  a 
helpless,  bewildered  gesture. 

112 


MARIAN'S   SECRET 

"Read  it,  Marian,"  she  whispered,  and  sank  down 
on  the  bench.  "I  —  I  am  so  confused.  What  can  it 
all  mean?  But  of  course  it  doesn't  mean  anything, 
and  I  am  just  a  silly  goose." 

Marian  stood  a  moment  in  silence.  She  too  had 
grown  very  white,  but  her  command  upon  herself  was 
perfect.  She  took  the  letter  to  the  far  end  of  the 
bench  and  sat  down.  There  was  not  the  quivering 
of  an  eyelid  to  betray  her  inward  foreboding  and 
terror.  Then  she  began  to  read,  very  slowly  and  delib- 
erately, as  if  prepared  to  weigh  every  word  and  give  it 
its  complete  significance. 

It  was  an  old  woman's  letter,  stiffly  conventional, 
with  a  hint  of  the  grande  dame  of  other  days  in  its 
prim  diction  and  cold  austerity.  Its  aloofness  chilled 
her  like  a  cold  blast.  Yet  it  was  the  evident  intention 
to  be  kind.  The  first  half  dozen  pages  related  to  the 
recent  family  bereavement,  but  Marian  did  not  hurry 
through  them.  She  was  nerving  herself  for  what 
something  told  her  would  surely  follow.  At  length  she 
came  to  this  paragraph,  and  her  heart  stood  still: 

"  You  say  that  you  have  a  young  friend  visiting  you. 
You  do  not  tell  me  to  what  part  of  the  world  she 
belongs,  but  you  remark  that  she  is  comely,  and  that 
her  name  is  Marian  Day.  Marian  Day  !  What  a 
shock  that  gave  me!  Yet  it  is  not  strange  that  names 
should  sometimes  repeat  themselves.  Nevertheless, 

113 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

my  dear,  you  have  turned  my  thoughts  backward. 
That  name,  though  it  was  an  obscure  one  here,  and  is 
doubtless  now  forgotten,  is  still  very  familiar  to  me, 
on  account  of  a  certain  dark  story  connected  with  it 
which  peculiar  circumstances  once  brought  to  my 
attention.  The  lovely  young  friend  you  have  with 
you  has  doubtless  lived  too  sheltered  an  existence  to 
know  anything  by  personal  contact  of  the  sort  of  evil 
and  sorrow  that  befell  the  Marian  Day  to  whom  I 
refer.  But  the  story  may  interest  you  by  contrast." 

Marian  paused.  For  an  instant  the  little  summer- 
house,  the  sunlit  garden,  her  waiting  friend  —  the 
whole  round  earth  swam  before  her  eyes  in  a  confused 
and  blinding  huddle.  She  still  held  the  fluttering 
pages  in  her  hands,  and  her  gaze  was  riveted  upon 
them,  but  she  was  unable  to  read  a  word.  Rigid  as 
stone  she  sat,  scarcely  breathing.  Then,  with  a  mighty 
effort,  she  nerved  herself  and  read  the  letter  to  its 
close. 

Suddenly  she  rose.  She  had  reached  a  decision. 
There  was  an  element  of  audacity  in  her  nature  which 
enabled  her  to  dare  the  truth,  though  caring  little  for 
it  as  such. 

"Your  great-aunt  has  a  most  accurate  memory. 
There  are  no  mistakes  in  the  story  she  gives  you 
here,"  she  said  in  a  low,  hard  voice. 

Mrs.  Caldwell  looked  up  quickly. 
114 


MARIAN'S    SECRET 

" Marian"  she  cried,  sharply,  " what  —  what  on 
earth  do  you  mean  ?  What  can  you  know  about  it  ?  " 

"I  know  everything  about  it.  I  mean  that  it  is  all 
strictly  true.  No  one  could  tell  you  better  than  myself 
how  true  it  is."  She  stood  a  moment  looking  out  at 
the  glad  summer  sky.  Her  limp  mull  gown  hung 
about  her  beautiful  limbs  like  drapery  hiding  polished 
marble.  Her  face  against  its  aureole  of  red-brown 
hair  was  startling  in  its  whiteness.  Her  attitude  was 
coldly  defiant.  But  something  like  a  sob  broke  upon 
her  ear,  and  her  expression  altered  strangely. 

She  gave  a  quick,  uncertain  glance  in  the  direction 
of  the  small  figure  crouching  in  the  corner  of  the 
garden  bench,  with  bowed  head  and  hands  tightly 
clasped.  The  look  was  half  contemptuous. 

"It  is  a  dark  story,  as  your  aunt  informs  you,"  she 
said,  bitterly.  "I  should  have  told  it  to  you,  myself, 
perhaps,  and  not  risked  its  coming  to  you  in  the  way 
it  has.  No  wonder  it  has  unnerved  you.  I  should 
have  remembered  the  wide  gulf  of  separation  that  the 
self-righteous  place  between  themselves  and  those 
whose  lives  have  been  in  any  way  touched  by  the 
blight  of  sin.  I  should  have  spared  you  this  unpleasant 
moment.  I  should  not  have  come  here." 

Against  her  sarcasm  and  her  scorn  Mrs.  Caldwell 
was  mute  and  helpless.  Some  consciousness  of  the 
secret  fire  smouldering  beneath  the  clear-cut  sentences 

115 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

held  her  spellbound  in  the  presence  of  a  force  with 
which  she  felt  herself  unequal  to  cope.  She  only  knew 
that  in .  some  mysterious  way  the  two  had  seemed  to 
change  places,,  and  that  she  had  been  made  to  feel  that 
it  was  herself  who  was  on  trial  and  not  Marian  Day. 

"  Ah,  my  dear  —  my  dear  — "  she  gasped.  The 
tone  was  deprecating  and  almost  apologetic. 

The  color  began  slowly  to  return  to  Marian's  face. 
She  looked  quickly  away,  and  a  faint  little  smile  played 
about  her  lips  —  and  was  gone. 

When  she  spoke  again  her  voice,  her  manner,  her 
very  personality  even  seemed  changed.  She  was  sub- 
dued, plaintive,  appealing.  There  were  tears  in  her 
eyes  and  her  lip  trembled  like  a  child's. 

"I  ought  not  to  have  come,"  she  repeated.  "But 
oh,  I  was  so  miserable,  so  desolate;  and  it  seemed  such 
a  beautiful  thing  to  be  cared  for,  and  to  be  treated  as 
if  there  were  no  shadow  over  me.  You  can't  think 
how  this  thing  has  followed  me.  Not  that  any  one  in 
my  new  life  ever  knew.  No  one  knew.  But  I  knew; 
and  the  dread  of  just  such  a  moment  as  this  has  been 
a  torment  ever  since  I  met  you.  You  have  been  so 
good  to  me.  Shall  you  —  shall  you  turn  me  out  — 
now  that  you  know  about  me?" 

Added  to  her  well-feigned  humility  there  was  a 
hopelessness  that  went  straight  to  Mrs.  Caldwell's 
simple,  kindly  heart.  All  at  once  the  little  woman 

116 


MARIAN'S   SECRET 

gathered  herself  together.  She  gave  a  sudden  start, 
rose,  and  then  came  hurrying  across  the  intervening 
space  with  outstretched  arms. 

"Turn  you  out?"  she  cried.  "Oh,  you  poor  dear 
thing!" 

She  drew  the  girl  down  to  the  bench  and  folded  her 
to  her  warm,  ample  breast  in  a  tender  embrace.  "  There, 
now,  there,  dear,"  she  crooned.  "Turn  you  out  in- 
deed! What  on  earth  could  you  have  been  thinking 
of,  child?" 

Marian's  face  was  hid,  but  she  lifted  it  presently 
with  the  same  sweetly  humble  look  upon  it  which 
Mrs.  Caldwell  had  found  so  touching. 

"  Then  you  can  forgive  me  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Forgive  you !  For  what  should  you  ask  forgiveness 
of  me?"  replied  Mrs.  Caldwell,  only  holding  her  the 
more  closely. 

"For  —  for  not  telling  you,  for  one  thing,"  said 
Marian,  with  a  sad,  faltering  smile. 

"But  I  am  the  one  to  ask  forgiveness  of  you,"  said 
Mrs.  Caldwell  in  another  burst  of  tenderness.  "  It  was 
cruel  of  me,  brutal  beyond  expression  to  bring  that 
letter  to  you.  I  don't  know  what  could  have  made  me 
do  it,  except  that  I  was  unnerved,  as  you  said.  I 
didn't  really  believe  that  the  story  concerned  you,  and 
yet  —  there  was  the  suspicion.  I  wanted  —  I  just 
wanted  you  to  prove  to  me  that  it  was  all  nothing  to 

117 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

you.  Oh,  you  poor,  poor  dear,  how  you  must  have 
suffered!" 

She  bent  down  her  head  and  kissed  the  girl's  neck 
where  the  nape  of  it  showed  above  her  thin  gown. 
"It  is  so  soft  and  white,"  she  whispered,  fondly,  and  in 
a  voice  which  she  strove  to  make  as  natural  as  if 
nothing  had  occurred. 

Marian  extricated  herself,  and  moved  away.  She 
walked  over  to  the  entrance  of  the  summer-house,  and 
stood  a  moment.  When  she  turned  her  face  was 
white  and  cold  again. 

"Shall  you  feel  that  you  must  speak  of  this  to  —  to 
Mrs.  Boiling,  for  instance?"  she  demanded,  rather 
distantly. 

Mrs.  Caldwell  looked  troubled. 

"I  shall  not  feel  that  I  must  speak  of  it  to  Mrs. 
Boiling." 

Marian  was  seized  with  a  sudden  panic  of  real  fear. 
She  searched  her  friend's  face  for  an  instant,  and  then 
dropped  down  on  the  ground  and  knelt  beside  her, 
clutching  wildly  at  her  hands. 

"Promise  me  that  you  will  not  speak  of  this  to 
any  one  —  even  to  Mr.  Caldwell,"  she  said,  breath- 
lessly. 

Mrs.  Caldwell  hesitated.  She  had  no  secrets  of  her 
own,  and  those  of  other  people  she  happened  to  know 
she  invariably  told  to  Tim;  yet  there  was  something  in 

118 


MARIAN'S   SECRET 

the  energy  and  inherent  forcefulness  of  the  girl  that 
constrained  her. 

"  I  shall  not  even  tell  Tim." 

"  And  you  will  give  me  that  letter  ?  " 

The  tone  was  imperious,  compelling. 

"Yes  —  yes,  I  will  give  you  the  letter." 

Marian  raised  herself  a  little,  and  fixed  her  burning 
eyes  on  the  other's  face. 

"Swear  to  me  that  you  will  never  tell,"  she  insisted, 
in  a  low,  tense  voice. 

Mrs.  Caldwell  looked  grieved.  Despite  her  unthink- 
ing amiability  she  was  not  without  her  little  pride  and 
dignity. 

"My  word,  Marian,  should  be  sufficient,"  she 
responded,  gravely. 

The  girl  flung  herself  upon  her  in  a  sort  of  frenzy. 

"Oh,  pity  me,"  she  cried,  "I  am  so  miserable  — 
miserable!"  Then  she  raised  her  head  again  and  the 
strange  light  shone  in  her  eyes.  "  Swear ! "  she  cried. 

There  was  a  moment  of  waiting.  Then  the  little 
woman  bent  down  and  took  the  girl's  face  in  both  her 
hands. 

"  I  swear,"  she  said. 


119 


CHAPTER  VIII 

CIRCE 

IT  was  the  last  of  August. 

Already  there  had  come  a  few  cool  days  to  Kentucky. 
Although  warm  weather  would  return  and  probably 
continue  for  many  weeks,  the  first  note  of  change  had 
sounded  —  echoing  with  melancholy  sweetness  down 
the  forest  aisles  —  with  the  waning  of  the  fiery  noontide 
heat,  the  delicious  twilight  languor,  the  dream  and  the 
ecstasy  of  lovely  moonlit  nights.  And  as  if  in  awe  of 
Nature's  summons  the  great  passionate  heart  of  Sum- 
mer had  seemed  for  an  instant  to  be  chilled,  startled 
in  the  rapture  of  a  mighty  love,  and  fearful  despite  the 
sun-god's  flaming  banners. 

To  Marian  Day  the  approach  of  autumn  had  come 
as  an  agonizing  reminder  of  things  already  borne  and 
of  what  might  possibly  still  have  to  be  endured.  Her 
visit  had  lengthened  into  nearly  six  weeks,  and  it  had 
been  a  humiliating  and  absolute  failure,  with  respect 
to  everything  she  had  hoped  for  and  anticipated.  In 
ten  days  she  was  to  return  to  the  uncongenial  duties 

120 


CIRCE 

of  her  former  existence,  unless  fate,  which  had  already 
seemed  to  her  pitiless  to  the  point  of  cruelty,  should 
relent  and  intervene.  The  little  country  schoolhouse 
wherein  she  had  spent  many  never  to  be  forgotten 
months  of  torture  was  constantly  before  her  eyes. 
Even  in  her  dreams  she  would  see  its  bare  walls,  the 
hideous  air-tight  stove,  the  cheap  wooden  benches,  the 
blackboard,  with  some  arithmetical  problem  or  a 
lesson  in  English  grammar  outlined  upon  it,  and  wake 
suddenly  as  if  stifled  in  the  close  atmosphere  of  the 
badly  ventilated  room.  The  odor  of  apples  and  of 
stale  lunch  baskets  seemed  a  reality.  At  such  moments 
she  would  open  her  eyes,  raise  herself  quickly  on  one 
elbow  and  gaze  about  the  luxuriously  appointed  apart- 
ment provided  for  her,  with  a  look  of  abject  terror. 
Then,  as  the  recognition  of  her  temporary  reprieve 
forced  itself  upon  her  troubled  consciousness,  she  would 
sink  back  among  the  pillows  of  her  carved  mahogany 
bed,  with  its  old  gold  satin  canopy,  its  fine  embroideries, 
its  snowy  whiteness  of  spread  and  drapery,  with  an 
intensity  of  sensuous  delight  which  had  in  it  a  certain 
animal  enjoyment  not  unlike  that  of  a  tired  steed  that 
has  slipped  the  halter  and  at  last  lies  wallowing  in 
some  green  woodland  pasture. 

At  the  end  of  the  last  school  term  she  had  secretly 
registered  a  vow  that  she  would  never  again  return  to 
her  prison  house.  Yet  from  all  indications  it  would 

121 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

seem  that  she  was  to  return  to  it,  and  that  right  speedily. 
The  thought  drove  her  to  desperation. 

She  had  met  most  of  the  representative  people  of  the 
town,  old  and  young,  many  of  whom,  however,  had 
come  as  a  mere  form  to  bestow  a  visit  of  perfunctory 
condolence  upon  Mrs.  Caldwell,  not  knowing  that  she 
had  a  guest.  From  time  to  time  Roger  Boiling  had 
brought  relays  of  young  men  —  for  the  most  part  poor 
young  lawyers  like  himself,  pleasant,  attentive,  yet 
lacking,  as  she  soon  discovered,  his  distinction,  his 
inherent  strength  and  charm.  On  the  whole  they  did 
not  seem  to  her  to  be  worth  while,  and  she  exerted 
herself  little  for  their  entertainment,  reserving  her 
efforts  for  Roger  himself  in  a  manner  that  was  subtly 
flattering  and  compelling. 

The  two  had  been  much  together.  But  Mrs.  Cald- 
well, watching  the  situation  with  almost  as  much 
trepidation  as  Mrs.  Boiling  herself,  had  at  last  quieted 
her  fears.  It  did  not  seem  likely  to  develop  into  an 
affair,  although  it  was  evident  that  some  mysterious 
bond  of  interest,  stronger  than  the  courtesy  that  the 
peculiar  circumstances  demanded,  drew  Roger  to  the 
girl,  and  held  him,  though  by  no  means  a  captive. 
She  could  not  know  that  his  state  of  mind  was  a  direct 
outcome  of  certain  conditions  that  had  to  do  with  his 
unsatisfactory  relation  toward  Sibyl  Fontaine. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  during  much  of  the  time  that 
122 


CIRCE 

had  passed  since  Sibyl's  departure  he  had  been  as 
distinctly  miserable  as  his  buoyant  nature  would  allow. 
Too  bewildered  by  the  mad  rush  of  feeling  that  had 
assailed  him  at  first  to  reason  calmly,  the  thought  of 
her  had  gradually  become  a  torment.  As  an  escape 
he  had  sought  to  forget  her  by  means  of  an  even  closer 
application  than  ordinary  to  his  work.  He  worked 
furiously,  irrationally,  with  the  sort  of  desperate  energy 
that  certain  high-strung  temperaments  resort  to  as  a 
safety-valve  against  themselves.  And  in  his  moments 
of  inevitable  reaction,  with  the  return  to  the  old  rest- 
lessness or  apathy  as  the  case  might  be,  he  sought  the 
society  of  Marian  Day,  who,  in  his  excited  state,  was 
able  to  offer  an  appeal  which  she  would  have  been 
powerless  to  make  had  he  not  been  thus  aroused.  That 
this  appeal  was  distinctly  to  the  lower  side  of  him,  that 
it  was  unspiritual,  and  at  times  deliberately  earthy,  he 
scarcely  knew.  His  experience  of  life  had  not  been 
wide;  and  there  are  natures  that  can  only  find  out 
poison  by  tasting  every  common  bush  and  flower. 

During  this  tremendous  crisis  of  his  development, 
Marian  Day,  suspecting  everything,  though  apparently 
seeing  nothing,  had  watched  him  as  a  cat  watches  a 
mouse,  realizing  perfectly  the  precise  moment  in  which 
to  spring,  and  not  daring  to  precipitate  matters  by  so 
much  as  an  injudicious  movement  of  an  eyelash,  lest 
she  should  lose  all. 

123 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

The  delay  had  gone  beyond  her  expectations.  But 
she  had  not  for  one  instant  lost  faith  in  herself.  It 
was  time,  time  that  she  asked  for,  and  that  only. 
The  thought  of  what  must  be  accomplished,  if  ever, 
within  the  next  ten  days  would  have  been  unnerving 
to  some  women,  paralyzing  their  charm.  To  her  it 
was  a  powerful  stimulus  that  revealed  itself  in  a  glow 
and  sparkle  that  was  contagious,  and  that  went  to  the 
head  like  wine. 

She  was  lying  outstretched  in  luxurious  abandon,  one 
warm  afternoon,  tossing  a  little  restlessly  from  time  to 
time  on  her  couch,  as  she  reviewed  the  critical  situation 
with  a  coolness  that  combined  an  unwilling  admiration 
and  the  impatience  she  felt  against  the  strength  she 
had  to  combat,  when  there  came  a  light  tap  on  her 
door. 

Mrs.  Caldwell  entered.  She  stood  an  instant  poised 
like  a  bird  ready  for  flight,  and  then  moved  softly  on 
tiptoe  into  the  room.  She  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the 
lounge. 

"I  didn't  wake  you?  You  are  sure?  I  think 
people  that  are  inopportune  are  such  horrors,  and  you 
know  I  want  you  to  rest,  rest,  rest,  so  that  I  can  send 
you  back  strong  and  well  to  your  school  this  autumn. 
I  do  think  the  visit  has  done  you  good.  Your  neck 
and  arms  are  quite  beautifully  plump  —  lovely,  my 
dear.  But  ought  you  to  leave  them  bare  like  that? 

124 


CIRCE 

You  might  fall  asleep,  and  then  you  would  be  certain 
to  take  cold." 

"I  haven't  been  asleep,  and  I  am  quite  com- 
fortable," said  Marian,  wondering  what  all  this  was 
leading  up  to.  "I  shall  not  do  anything  to  make 
myself  ill.  These  last  ten  days  mean  too  much  to 
me." 

Mrs.  Caldwell's  face  grew  troubled.  But  Marian's 
tone  was  entirely  simple,  and  there  seemed  no  hidden 
meaning  lurking  in  the  words.  She  was  thinking  that, 
if  it  were  not  for  Roger  Boiling  and  her  sense  of  obli- 
gation there,  she  would  be  glad  that  the  visit  should 
be  prolonged.  But  she  only  said: 

"There  was  a  telephone  message,  and  I  answered, 
thinking  you  were  asleep.  Roger  wanted  to  know  at 
what  hour  he  should  come  for  the  drive  this  afternoon. 
I  suggested  half-past  five,  and  he  said  he  thought  five 
would  be  better." 

Marian  busied  herself  tucking  up  the  tawny  mane 
hanging  loose  about  her.  -She  kept  her  face  turned 
away.  Had  Mrs.  Caldwell  seen  the  gleam  that  sud- 
denly shone  in  the  amber-colored  eyes,  and  the  look 
of  almost  savage  triumph  traced  upon  the  clear-cut 
features  of  her  guest,  she  would  have  been  convinced 
of  much  that  she  preferred  not  to  believe;  and  Mrs. 
Boiling's  disturbance,  which  she  could  no  longer  per- 
suade herself  was  something  conjured  up  by  her  own 

125 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

supersensitive  fears,  would  not  have  seemed  altogether 
groundless. 

"  I  have  just  come  from  Mrs.  Boiling,"  she  remarked, 
presently,  giving  a  partial  expression  to  her  thought. 
"  She  is  looking  wretched  —  really  shocking,  I  think. 
She  is  not  at  all  well,  and  she  seems  so  —  so  troubled." 

"Does  she?"  inquired  Marian,  simply.  "I  didn't 
know  of  her  illness.  Her  son  did  not  mention  it." 

"  When  did  you  see  Roger  ? "  demanded  Mrs. 
Caldwell,  quickly. 

Marian  opened  her  eyes.  Then  she  met  Mrs. 
Caldwell's  gaze  with  the  utmost  frankness. 

"  When  ?  "  she  replied.  "  This  morning,  while  I  was 
down  town.  He  joined  me  and  walked  as  far  as  the 
library.  He  seemed  in  good  spirits,  I  thought." 

*'  I  don't  think  she  is  anxious  particularly  over  money 
matters  at  present,"  Mrs.  Caldwell  continued,  seeming 
to  find  a  painful  satisfaction  in  the  theme.  "  Tim  says 
Roger  made  a  most  excellent  sale  of  some  of  their 
Main  street  property  a  day  or  two  ago.  He  is  going 
to  invest  the  proceeds  in  Western  lands.  But  of 
course  they  won't  yield  anything  for  quite  a  long 
time,"  she  added,  hastily,  suddenly  seeing  the  drift  of 
her  words. 

Marian  stifled  a  yawn.  "Has  she  consulted  a  phy- 
sician ? "  she  asked,  with  wholly  impersonal  interest. 

"Yes;  and  his  report  is  not  encouraging.  She  has 
126 


CIRCE 

had  pneumonia  twice,  and  he  fears  some  serious  lung 
trouble.  She  has  told  nothing  of  this  to  Roger  yet, 
and  you  mustn't  let  him  know  of  anything  I  have  said. 
I  think  she  intends  to  tell  him,  though,  and  I  have 
mentioned  it  to  you  as  a  sort  of  explanation  of  why 
you  will  probably  not  see  very  much  of  him  during  the 
remainder  of  your  visit.  The  doctor  says  that  she 
must  keep  much  in  the  open  air,  and  that  Roger  must 
take  her  driving  every  day." 

Mrs.  Caldwell  folded  her  tiny  hands  in  her  lap  and 
sighed.  There  were  times  when  Marian's  secret 
weighed  heavily  upon  her,  and  when  the  thought  of  it, 
added  to  the  responsibility  she  would  in  any  case  have 
felt,  was  insupportable.  In  view  of  it,  anything  like 
a  love  affair  between  the  girl  and  Roger  Boiling  seemed 
a  catastrophe  that  would  be  indeed  appalling. 

But  her  perturbed  spirits  had  been  soothed  and 
reassured  by  the  calm  of  Marian's  manner.  Presently 
she  sprang  up  briskly. 

"It  is  nearly  five  and  you  must  dress,"  she  cried. 
"  Roger  will  not  forgive  me  if  I  shorten  your  last  drive 
together.  Poor  dear!  He  will  have  thoughts  now 
only  for  his  mother." 

At  the  door  she  turned  and  looked  back  smiling. 

"I  am  so  glad  that  you  are  not  his  sweetheart, 
dearie,"  she  said,  with  a  sudden  daring  that  left  her 
all  a-tremble. 

127 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

Marian  was  moving  softly  about  the  room  with  her 
smooth,  cat-like  tread.  She  paused. 

"  Are  you  ?  "  she  inquired,  nonchalantly.     "  Why  ?  " 

Mrs.  Caldwell  fumbled  awkwardly  with  the  door- 
knob. The  question  and  Marian's  directness  had 
completely  disconcerted  her. 

"  Oh,  because  —  because  it  would  be  so  —  sad  !  " 
she  murmured  faintly,  as  her  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

Half  an  hour  later  Marian  was  moving  quickly  down 
the  walk  in  her  white  duck  gown  toward  Roger  Boiling 
and  his  restive  thoroughbred.  She  was  radiant.  Her 
eyes  behind  her  thin  gauze  veil  shone  darkly  luminous, 
and  he  stood  watching  her  as  she  approached  with  an 
expression  on  his  aristocratic  features  that  would  have 
sent  a  thrill  of  horror  into  Mrs.  Caldwell's  gentle  breast 
had  she  seen  it.  Without  speaking  she  gave  him  her 
hand  for  an  instant  and  then  sprang  lightly  into  the 
trap,  and  in  silence  he  took  the  seat  beside  her.  But 
as  the  bay  dashed  forward  he  turned  to  her. 

"  In  which  direction  shall  we  go  ?  "  he  asked,  briefly, 
avoiding  her  eyes. 

"  Let  us  first  go  through  the  town  and  then  out  on  any 
one  of  the  country  roads.  I  leave  the  choice  to  you." 

He  hesitated.  "  But  why  through  the  town  ?  "  He 
broke  into  a  short,  embarrassed  laugh.  "It  is  county 
court  day,  and  —  there  is  also  a  circus." 

128 


CIRCE 

But  there  was  method  in  Marian's  delay. 

"  I  know,"  she  responded,  sweetly,  "  and  that  is  why 
I  want  first  to  go  through  the  town.  I  like  it  when  it 
is  alive  like  that." 

He  turned  the  horse's  head  resignedly.  "If  you 
hope  to  see  Phyllis  and  Corydon,  I  warn  you  you  will 
be  disappointed." 

"Why?" 

"Because  Phyllis  will  be  such  a  stylishly  dressed 
young  person  you  will  not  even  know  she  is  Phyllis, 
unless  I  should  be  sufficiently  informed  to  point  her 
out  to  you,  which  I  doubt;  and  as  for  Corydon,  he  will 
be  such  a  splendid  big  six-footer  that  you  will  not  take 
him  for  a  rustic  but  a  prize  fighter." 

To-day  there  was  a  sort  of  suppressed  excitement  in 
his  manner  which  she  perceived  instantly,  and  which 
was  added  fuel  to  the  flame  her  own  desperate  deter- 
mination had  kindled  within  herself.  His  boyish  face 
was  pale  and  the  gleam  that  shot  now  and  again  from 
his  gray  eyes  revealed  the  secret  perturbation  he  sought 
in  vain  to  conceal  from  her.  He  was  fast  losing  his 
head,  and  she  knew  it.  The  thought  rushed  through 
her  like  the  leap  of  fire,  as  they  picked  their  difficult 
course  through  the  noisy  thoroughfare. 

"It  is  too  crowded,"  she  said  at  last,  as  an  elec- 
tric car  sped  past  them  almost  grazing  their  wheels. 
A  small  boy  with  a  balloon  whistle  had  well-nigh 

129 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

encountered  Juggernaut,  Roger  turned  the  trap  so 
quickly. 

A  few  moments  afterward  they  were  out  upon  one 
of  the  loveliest  of  the  country  roads,  far  away  from  the 
din  of  the  town. 

There  had  been  frequent  rains  and  the  woods  were 
not  at  all  parched.  Marian,  with  wise  procrastination, 
folded  her  hands  and  looked  away  toward  the  gently 
rolling  fields,  with  an  expression  of  serene  contentment 
in  her  eyes. 

"How  beautiful  it  is,"  she  murmured  as  to  herself, 
"how  beautiful!" 

Roger  caught  at  the  impersonal  note  as  a  drowning 
man  catches  at  a  straw.  He  had  been  frantic  to  be 
alone  with  her,  and  at  first  was  not  a  little  piqued  at 
the  nonchalance  that  could  seem  to  find  greater 
pleasure  in  the  excitement  of  the  blatant  streets, 
where  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  say  a  word  to 
her  with  comfort,  than  in  his  untrammelled  society. 
But  now  that  the  longed  for  moment  had  come,  he 
was  dumb. 

"Yes,  it  is  very  beautiful,"  he  answered  after  a 
while,  still  avoiding  her  eyes.  "  It  is  sometimes  a  little 
surprising  to  me,  though,  that  strangers  find  at  once  as 
much  to  admire  in  the  Bluegrass  scenery  as  they  do. 
There  is  nothing  imposing  about  it,  nothing  inspiring 
as  in  more  rugged  landscapes,  nothing  immediately 

130 


CIRCE 

to  catch  the  attention.  Yet  nearly  every  one  that 
comes  here  cares  for  it." 

He  spoke  hurriedly,  nervously,  as  one  whose  spirit 
was  not  calm  for  such  discussion.  She  was  silent,  as 
if  preoccupied  and  wholly  taken  up  with  the  view. 

"  I  didn't  know  that  you  cared  particularly  for  any- 
thing like  that,"  he  observed,  a  trifle  morosely,  after  a 
while,  again  beset  with  a  desire  to  direct  her  attention 
to  himself.  The  fact  was  that  he  had  often  noted  her 
apparent  indifference  to  the  very  thing  she  was  now 
professing  to  admire. 

Marian  withdrew  her  gaze.  She  turned  to  him  with 
a  slow,  beautiful  smile. 

"I  have  grown  to  love  it,"  she  said,  softly. 

The  look  and  the  tone  were  unmistakable.  A  hot 
flush  swept  to  his  temples.  But  he  only  said: 

"  What  is  it  you  see  in  it  especially  to  care  for  ? " 

She  heaved  a  deep  sigh.  "Oh!"  she  cried,  with  a 
laugh,  and  a  piteous,  half  tearful  note  in  her  voice, 
"  it  is  the  sense  of  —  of  plentifulness  that  it  gives  one, 
just  that.  I  never  had  a  plenty  of  anything  in  all  my 
life  —  unless  it  was  a  plenty  of  trouble." 

His  face  grew  tender.  Had  she  looked  at  him  in 
that  moment  there  would  have  been  little  doubt  in  her 
mind  as  to  what  she  should  do  next.  But  it  chanced 
that  just  then  they  came  in  sight  of  one  of  the  pictur- 
esque homes  for  which  the  region  is  famed  —  a  great 

131 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

square  building  with  wide  porches  and  tall  white  pillars 
set  back  in  the  midst  of  a  park  of  noble  forest  trees, 
and  her  attention  was  misdirected.  When  she  spoke 
again  he  was  grave  and  calm. 

"Who  lives  in  that  lovely  old  place?"  she  asked, 
quickly,  her  eyes  greedy  with  longing  for  the  merely 
material. 

"Some  people  from  the  East  of  the  name  of  Sulli- 
van," he  replied,  shortly. 

"Do  you  know  them?" 

"Slightly." 

"How  long  have  they  lived  here?" 

"About  two  years.     They  have  a  stock  farm." 

"How  many  of  them  are  there?" 

"  Only  two  —  the  man  and  his  wife.  Why  are  you 
interested  ?  " 

She  leaned  back  and  slowly  unclasped  her  gloves, 
keeping  her  eyes  downcast. 

"I  don't  know  that  I  could  make  you  understand," 
she  said,  at  length.  "But  it  is  always  interesting  to 
me  to  remember  that  there  are  people  in  the  world  who 
have  escaped  the  rude  blasts  of  life  —  for  whom 
existence  is  smooth  and  well  ordered,  far  apart  from 
the  vulgar  highway  on  which  many  of  us  have  to 
trudge  and  drudge,  like  weary  rock  crackers,  every 
day,  solely  in  order  that  an  unhappy  soul  may  not  take 
leave  of  its  body." 

132 


CIRCE 

Roger  slackened  pace  a  little  that  she  might  see  the 
place  more  distinctly.  Then  he  remarked,  laconically: 

"  The  people  who  live  there  scarcely  answer  to  your 
description  about  the  smooth,  well-ordered  existence 
and  all  that.  Mr.  Sullivan  comes  from  a  very  humble 
walk  in  life,  and  he  has  seen  about  as  hard  times  as 
anybody  I  ever  heard  of.  I  am  not  sure,"  he  threw 
back  his  head  and  the  old  boyish  laughter  —  yet  with 
a  difference  —  rang  out,  "  I  am  not  sure  that  the  vulgar 
highway  in  his  case  did  not  include  a  veritable  rock 
pile.  At  any  rate,  he  moiled  and  toiled  for  many  years 
before  anybody  ever  heard  of  him  except  as  a  day 
laborer.  Then  somebody  over  in  Europe  died  and 
left  him  a  small  fortune.  He  invested  it,  and  it  was 
not  long  before  he  was  worth  several  hundred  thou- 
sands. After  that  he  gambled  quite  extensively  and 
successfully  in  Wall  Street.  He  is  now  a  complete 
wreck,  so  far  as  health  is  concerned,  and  he  is  also  a 
very  unhappy  person  indeed.  His  wife,  who  is  a 
rather  pretty  woman  and  of  a  very  different  grade  of 
life  from  his,  has  a  decidedly  rough  time  of  it  with 
him.  He  is  penurious  and  underbred,  and  on  the 
whole  her  lot  seems  to  be  anything  but  one  to  envy. 
Waller  knows  her  very  well.  It  is  one  of  the  places 
he  visits  a  good  deal,  and  — "  All  at  once  he  broke 
off  and  whistled  softly.  "Angels  and  ministers  of 
grace  defend  us!"  he  exclaimed,  "if  there  isn't  the 

133 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

fellow  now!  And  I  thought  he  was  hundreds  of  miles 
away  from  here." 

Marian's  face  went  suddenly  white,  and  a  startled 
look  came  into  her  eyes.  She  glanced  quickly  in  the 
direction  he  indicated.  She  was  trembling  as  if  they 
had  suddenly  encountered  an  apparition.  But  all  at 
once  her  features  were  illuminated  by  a  strange  smile. 
She  threw  back  her  loose  gauze  veil  and  sat  bolt 
upright  in  the  trap,  looking  toward  the  top  of  the  hill 
with  an  expression  that  was  half  dubious,  yet  infinitely 
daring.  A  soft,  delicious  color  swept  into  her  cheeks. 
She  had  taken  off  her  gloves,  and  with  one  swift,  deft 
hand  she  smoothed  the  stray  locks  about  her  temples. 

Francis  Waller  came  slowly  down  the  road,  with  his 
hands  in  his  pockets  and  a  pipe  in  his  mouth,  a  collie 
following  at  his  heels.  He  was  dressed  with  the  utmost 
care,  but  despite  a  certain  elegance  of  attire  and  bear- 
ing, an  unmistakable  air  of  polish  that  bespoke  equally 
the  scholar  and  the  man  of  the  world,  he  was  scarcely 
a  pleasing  figure,  at  first  sight.  There  was  something 
ugly  and  disproportionate  about  the  somewhat  pon- 
derous form.  His  body  was  too  long  and  his  legs  were 
too  short  for  symmetry;  and  there  was  an  indolence  of 
general  aspect  that  made  him  seem  older  than  he  was, 
and  that  was  in  direct  contrast  with  Roger  Boiling's 
athletic  energy  and  nervous,  animated  mien.  But  in 
spite  of  all  this  there  was  that  in  his  appearance  that 

134 


CIRCE 

caught  the  attention  and  held  it.  One  knew  him  at 
once  to  be  not  an  ordinary  man.  The  look  in  his 
light,  greenish  eyes  was  brooding,  thoughtful,  poetic. 
They  were  most  expressive  eyes,  and  at  times  they  had 
been  known  to  grow  dark  and  beautiful  with  emotion. 
The  mouth  was  less  winning.  There  was  a  suggestion 
of  both  the  cynic  and  the  sensualist  in  the  curves  of 
the  full  red  lips. 

Yet,  strictly  speaking,  he  was  neither  a  cynic  nor  a 
sensualist.  The  gods  of  Law  and  Order  —  the  only 
Omnipotence  he  believed  in  —  were  still  able  to  compel 
from  him  a  sort  of  allegiance  which  kept  him  obedient 
in  the  main,  notwithstanding  the  occasional  captious 
note;  and  an  innate  fastidiousess,  a  loathing  for  the 
mere  irregularity  and  hideousness  of  vice,  as  opposed 
to  the  harmony  and  beauty  which  nature  had  taught 
him  to  worship,  kept  his  life  cleaner  than  that  of  most 
men,  albeit  wholly  independent  of  the  influence  of 
either  ethics  or  religion. 

He  was  walking  in  deep  thought,  with  downcast  eyes 
and  head  sunken  a  little  on  his  chest,  so  that  he  neither 
saw  nor  heard  the  approaching  vehicle  until  it  had 
passed  just  a  few  yards  in  front  of  him.  He  looked  up 
surprised,  and  gave  an  uncertain  glance  around  as  if 
unable  immediately  to  get  his  bearings.  An  instant 
afterward  the  greenish  eyes  behind  the  inevitable 
glasses  twinkled  humorously,  and  he  came  to  an  abrupt 

135 


THE   INVISIBLE    BOND 

standstill.  Then  he  most  deliberately  removed  his 
pipe  from  his  mouth  and  his  hat  from  his  head,  and 
came  forward,  all  in  that  quiet,  cool  way  of  his  that 
somehow  gave  the  impression  of  extreme  courtesy, 
despite  its  hint  of  insolence. 

"Hello,  Roger!"  he  said,  as  if  their  meeting  thus 
were  quite  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world. 

The  two  men  clasped  hands,  Roger  returning  the 
greeting  with  a  lordly  ease  that  was  more  than  a  match 
for  the  other's  nonchalance.  While  it  seemed  to  rec- 
ognize a  past  good  comradeship,  it  also  bore  witness  to 
the  break  in  their  friendship,  which  had  come  about 
neither  knew  precisely  how,  and  which  somehow  refused 
to  be  mended.  To  cover  over  the  slight  coldness  which 
his  manner  betrayed,  Roger  resorted  to  a  light  and 
jocular  tone.  He  immediately  introduced  him  to 
Marian,  pronouncing  her  full  name  in  a  sort  of  boyish 
banter. 

Francis  Waller  was  by  no  means  deceived.  He  was 
a  person  of  quick  discernment  as  well  as  of  great 
vanity,  and  the  first  note  of  dereliction  toward  himself 
was  apt  to  fall  upon  his  sensitive  ear  like  a  rude  dis- 
cord. Until  that  moment  he  had  kept  his  eyes  on 
Roger's  face  with  an  expression  half  pained,  half 
satirical.  At  the  mention  of  her  name,  however,  he 
looked  for  the  first  time  definitely  toward  Marian  Day. 

Their  eyes  met,  and  as  the  full  realization  of  her 
136 


CIRCE 

beauty,  which  was  of  an  order  that  he  found  particu- 
larly alluring,  swept  in  upon  him,  he  drew  back  a  step 
or  two  and  bowed  low,  while  his  thin  skin  where  it 
showed  above  his  light  brown  Vandyke  beard  flushed 
a  warm  pink  that  mounted  quite  up  to  his  brow. 

But  where  had  he  heard  that  name  before  ?  It  was 
oddly  familiar.  Or  was  his  memory  playing  him  some 
trick?  He  stood  wondering,  irresolute,  his  gaze  still 
riveted  upon  her. 

Marian  did  not  aid  him,  but  she  leaned  quickly 
forward  and  gave  him  her  ungloved  hand,  its  pulses 
throbbing  warmly  in  his  clasp. 

"At  last!"  she  murmured,  softly,  while  her  lips 
parted  in  a  bewildering  smile. 

The  tone  and  the  look  were  a  drop  of  balm  to  a 
wound.  Francis  Waller  gave  her  his  complete  atten- 
tion. 

"  But  I  have  met  you  before  —  "  he  began. 

She  looked  away.  "  You  have  never  met  me  before," 
she  replied,  with  a  barely  perceptible  coolness.  Then 
she  added,  "out  I  had  hoped  to  meet  the  great  author 
this  summer.  Mrs.  Caldwell  intended  to  send  me  to 
see  you,  if  your  prospective  house  party  hadn't  come 
to  naught." 

"  Oh ! "  he  cried,  with  genuine  regret,  "  was  it  really 
you  that  she  intended  to  send?" 

"  It  was  really  I,"  said  Marian  Day. 
137 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

"If  only  I  had  known!  Why  wasn't  there  some 
kind  fairy  to  whisper  in  my  ear  that  that  particular 
house  party  was  really  to  be  the  house  party  of  my 
life?  Why  — oh,  why!" 

And  Marian  echoed,  "Why!" 

The  bay  was  growing  restive  and  so  was  Roger. 
He  cut  in  shortly: 

"What  brings  you  back  to  this  part  of  the  world, 
Waller?  I  thought  you  were  far  from  here." 

"So  I  was,"  came  the  answer,  "but  business  com- 
pelled me  to  Cincinnati,  and  I  thought  I  would  run  up 
here  for  the  day  just  to  say  good-by  to  some  of  my 
dear  friends.  I  left  a  card  at  your  office  somewhere." 

"I  didn't  find  it,"  said  Roger,  conscious  of  being 
churlish  against  his  will,  and  hating  himself  for  it. 
"  Where  are  you  off  to  now  ?  " 

"To  Japan,"  replied  Francis  Waller,  with  his  eyes 
still  on  Marian. 

Her  face  changed  oddly.     She  leaned  toward  him. 

"Shall  you  be  long  gone?"  she  asked,  quickly. 

He  was  pleased,  flattered,  even  touched  a  little  by 
her  most  pronounced  interest.  Once  more  the  color 
swept  into  his  face. 

"  Very  long,"  he  responded,  sadly.  "  A  year  or  two, 
and  possibly  longer." 

"  How  does  the  new  book  come  on  ? "  interrupted 
Roger  again.  "  Hang  it  all,"  he  was  saying  to  himself 

138 


CIRCE 

viciously,  "what  makes  the  fellow  look  at  a  woman 
like  that?" 

Francis  Waller  at  once  withdrew  his  eyes.  After  all, 
a  beautiful  woman  was  only  of  momentary  importance 
to  him.  Art  in  the  abstract,  and  his  own  art  in  par- 
ticular, were  supreme.  His  expression  instantly  grew 
serious,  and  his  reply  was  amusingly  naive. 

"Oh,  it  is  coming  along.  It  was  a  little  late  in 
getting  into  the  publishers'  hands,  and  they  had  made 
most  of  their  arrangements  for  their  autumn  list,  but, 
as  one  of  the  firm  remarked  to  me,  the  morsel  was  too 
dainty  a  bit  to  be  left  over  until  next  year.  I  am  sure 
it  is  far  the  best  piece  of  work  I  have  sent  forth;  and 
in  this  estimate  I  think  the  public  will  agree  with  me  — 
that  is,  if  it  has  sufficiently  recovered  from  its  recent 
debauch,  and  is  not  too  greatly  contaminated  by  the 
cheap  and  sensational  to  know  a  good  thing  when  it 
sees  it.  However,  it  will  be  out  in  November.  I  have 
given  orders  that  a  copy  be  sent  to  you.  May  I  have 
the  pleasure  of  sending  one  to  you  also?"  he  supple- 
mented, addressing  himself  to  Marian. 

But  Marian  had  grown  inattentive.  Her  gaze  had 
wandered  away  in  the  direction  of  the  setting  sun,  and 
she  appeared  to  be  more  interested  in  the  benign 
and  lovely  aspect  of  the  Bluegrass  landscape  than  in 
anything  the  distinguished  author  had  to  say  to 
her. 

139 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

"That  would  be  very  good  of  you,"  she  murmured. 
Her  bow  was  a  trifle  absent-minded,  and  Roger,  per- 
ceiving it  with  a  sort  of  savage  elation,  made  a  move- 
ment of  departure.  He  leaned  forward  quickly  and 
held  out  his  hand. 

"Good-by,  old  fellow,"  he  said,  "we  mustn't  keep 
you  standing  here.  Sorry  to  miss  you  when  you  called 
to-day.  Good-by  —  and  bon  voyage" 

Francis  Waller  coolly  took  out  his  note-book. 

"  What  is  your  address  ? "  he  asked,  with  his  eyes 
again  on  Marian's  face,  stepping  back  a  little  to  avoid 
being  trampled  upon  by  Roger's  impatient  thorough- 
bred. 

She  hesitated  and  looked  down.  Then  she  slowly 
lifted  her  eyes  to  his  and  a  peculiar  smile  flitted  across 
her  features,  as  the  bay  made  a  dash  forward. 

"My  address?  Oh,  it  doesn't  matter.  Just  send 
it  —  send  it  in  care  of  Mr.  Boiling,  and  he  will  see 
that  it  gets  to  me,"  she  called  back  to  him. 

He  stood  stock-still  in  the  middle  of  the  road.  Pres- 
ently he  put  his  hat  on  his  head  and  his  pipe  into  his 
mouth,  striking  a  match  with  his  usual  nonchalance. 
But  the  trap  had  disappeared  below  the  crest  of  the 
hill  he  had  a  few  moments  before  descended,  before 
the  look  of  wonderment  in  his  eyes  gave  way  to  an 
expression  of  whimsical  amusement.  He  took  off  his 
hat  again  and  rubbed  his  hand  across  his  brow, 

140 


CIRCE 

tantalized  by  the  reminder  of  something  he  was  unable 
to  run  down.  Marian  Day!  What  strange  mental 
association  had  he  with  that  name?  Where  —  when? 
Like  a  will-o'-the-wisp  the  memory  eluded  him.  All 
at  once  he  drew  a  deep  breath,  and  threw  back  his 
head.  He  had  it!  "Ah!"  he  said  to  himself,  "ah!" 
and  laughed  softly. 

In  the  meantime  Marian  Day  had  promptly  dis- 
missed him  from  her  thoughts,  and  was  giving  herself 
up  to  the  man  at  her  side  with  a  concentration  of  her 
powers  that  made  the  incident  of  the  moment  before 
seem  to  him  as  if  regarded  as  the  merest  bagatelle. 
His  boyish  irritation  at  her  misdirected  flattery,  the 
slight  stiffness  of  manner  he  had  permitted  himself  for 
an  instant  to  manifest  toward  her  at  recollection  of 
her  somewhat  broadly  expressed  admiration  of  Waller 
—  which  had  jarred  not  only  upon  his  self-esteem 
but  upon  his  high  breeding  —  vanished  like  snow 
beneath  a  genial  sun  with  the  fostering  warmth  of 
her  smile.  Once  more  Roger  felt  himself  to  be  the 
supreme  object  of  her  regard  and  was  under  the  spell 
of  her  bewitching  subtlety,  the  intoxication  of  her 
nearness. 

It  was  growing  late,  yet  he  drove  on  and  on,  un- 
mindful of  the  shadows  ever  deepening  about  them, 
or  of  the  miles  that  lay  between  them  and  the  now  far 

141 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

distant  town.  The  sun  had  gone  down  in  roseate 
splendor,  flooding  the  lovely  land  in  an  afterglow  that 
lingered  and  blended  with  the  autumnal  haze  in  a 
delicious  tender  light.  But  now  the  clouds  were  paling, 
and  behind  delicate  streaks  of  pearl  and  mauve  a 
silver  crescent  shone,  slender  and  beautiful.  A  sad, 
sweet  stillness  pervaded  earth  and  sky,  a  stillness  that 
was  almost  painful  to  the  senses,  and  that  was  rudely 
broken  in  upon  from  time  to  time  by  some  clattering 
vehicle  hurrying  with  jaded  occupants  homeward  and 
supperward  after  the  long  day.  He  seemed  to  see  no 
one,  to  be  scarcely  conscious  of  the  flying  moments  — 
of  anything,  in  fact,  save  the  magnetism  of  a  presence 
that  had  made  the  past  a  blank  to  him  and  blinded 
him  to  the  future. 

For  he  had  given  up  the  fight.  A  madness  of  sur- 
render urged  him  to  put  the  goblet  she  held  out  to 
him  to  his  lips,  and  to  drink  deep,  deep  of  the  sparkling 
draught  within.  A  storm  of  excitement  raged  behind  his 
few  curt  sentences.  His  eyes  were  hard  and  glassy, 
and  now  and  then,  in  reply  to  her  honeyed  words,  his 
laugh  rang  out  short,  unsteady,  reckless.  A  cool  little 
breeze  was  gathering,  and  he  welcomed  it  against  his 
hot  brow,  as  it  fluttered  ghostlike  through  the  misty 
woodlands.  But  nature  was  helpless  to  still  the  tem- 
pest that  swept  him  onward  now.  His  nerves  were 
tense,  and  the  dear  familiar  twilight  sounds,  ordinarily 

142 


CIRCE 

music  to  his  ears,  had  lost  their  power  to  soothe.  The 
lowing  of  some  Jerseys  that  they  passed,  the  croaking 
of  the  frogs  in  a  distant  meadow,  the  shrill  notes  of 
katydid  or  cricket,  jarred  discordant.  He  kept  his 
face  resolutely  from  her  —  as  if  putting  forth,  uncon- 
sciously, one  last  despairing  effort  of  resistance. 

Once,  just  once,  he  had  dared  to  look  her  in  the 
eyes,  and  there  was  something  half  pleading  and 
piteous  in  his  expression  as  he  turned  his  head  quickly 
away. 

Presently  she  touched  him  on  the  arm.  She  had 
been  speaking  very  softly  of  her  departure,  with  an 
infinite  sadness  and  regret. 

"  We  must  go  back  now.     It  is  almost  quite  dark." 

Her  voice  seemed  to  take  on  a  mellowness  that 
lent  to  it  the  quality  of  a  flute  note  in  an  enchanted 
forest. 

He  looked  about  him  as  a  man  dazed. 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  hoarsely,  "we  must  go 
back." 

All  at  once  she  pressed  nearer  to  him  and  he  could 
hear  her  quick,  sob-like  breathing.  There  were 
genuine  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"But  oh,"  she  said  in  a  very  low  tone,  so  low  that 
he  had  to  bend  down  his  head  to  hear  it,  "I  wish,  I 
wish  we  didn't  have  to.  If  only  we  might  go  on  like 
this  forever!" 

143 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

He  did  not  speak.  But  he  flashed  a  quick,  startled 
glance  in  her  face.  Their  eyes  met  and  his  brain 
reeled.  Before  he  had  time  to  think  he  had  yielded. 
She  broke  into  a  low,  gurgling  laughter,  as  he  bent 
down  to  her.  An  instant  afterward  his  arm  was  about 
her,  and  he  had  kissed  her  on  the  lips. 


144 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  AWAKENING 

SEVERAL  hours  later  Roger  Boiling  moved  slowly  up 
the  path  that  led  to  his  own  doorway  and  applied  the 
latch-key.  His  step  was  halting  like  an  old  man's, 
and  his  face  was  white  and  haggard  as  if  a  blight  had 
suddenly  fallen  upon  its  young  hopefulness,  withering 
it,  and  leaving  only  dull  despair  in  its  stead.  He 
entered  softly,  and  stood  a  moment  looking  around 
upon  the  familiar  objects  with  eyes  that  were  glassy 
and  unseeing,  yet  filled  with  a  mute  questioning.  How 
long  had  it  been  since  he  stood  there  last?  Was  it 
days,  or  weeks,  or  months  ?  It  could  scarcely  have 
been  hours.  The  house  was  entirely  still,  save  for  an 
occasional  dismal  scratching  sound  made  by  the  Vir- 
ginia creeper  against  the  old-time  casement  when  the 
wind  stirred  it.  A  dim  light  had  been  left  burning  in 
the  hall  for  him,  and  it  lit  the  dining-room  sufficiently 
for  him  to  see  a  little  within.  He  knew  without  looking 
for  it  that  on  the  sideboard  he  would  find  a  tray  filled 
with  sandwiches  and  milk  and  fruits,  which,  with 

145 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

gentle  forethought,  his  mother  had  placed  there  as 
usual  for  him  with  her  own  hands.  He  had  tasted 
nothing  since  luncheon,  yet  the  thought  of  food  was 
revolting.  Presently  he  started  toward  the  staircase, 
and  then  paused  again  irresolute,  as  one  dazed. 

Out  of  the  maddening  play  of  the  senses  he  had 
emerged  at  last.  The  intoxication  that  had  blinded 
him,  the  storm  that  had  swept  and  swayed  and  finally 
uptorn  him  as  the  roots  of  a  sapling  are  uptorn  by  the 
blast  —  all,  all  were  over  now,  and  defeat,  humiliation, 
dejection  remained.  One  recollection,  and  one  only, 
finally  held  him  in  its  relentless  grip,  and  it  sobered 
him  as  a  drunken  man  is  sometimes  sobered  by  a 
blow.  It  was  the  realization  that  he  had  bound  him- 
self, definitely,  irrevocably  —  and  to  a  woman  whom, 
even  in  the  delirium  of  surrender,  he  knew  he  did 
not  love  in  any  way  that  was  worthy  of  his  higher 
self.  It  was  one  way,  but  it  was  not  the  best  way, 
and  his  heart  cried  out  in  bitterness  and  rebellion 
against  the  consequences  of  his  own  rash  words  and 
acts. 

That  first  kiss  in  the  twilight,  wildly  sweet,  and  hot 
with  the  headstrong  passion  of  his  unsullied  youth, 
had  become  only  a  painful  memory  now;  and  with  the 
waning  of  its  power  the  reminder  of  other  things  that 
through  it  he  had  lost  swept  like  an  avalanche  down 
upon  him  and  crushed  him  beneath  its  intolerable 

146 


THE   AWAKENING 

weight.  The  sweet  dream  of  an  ideal  marriage,  which 
is  the  lofty  hope  of  all  fine  natures,  and  which  recently, 
and  with  boyish  reverence,  had  sometimes  floated  before 
his  enraptured  eyes,  was  lost  in  the  light  of  common 
day.  Gone  were  the  haunting  visions,  that  like  a 
flock  of  white- winged  birds  fluttered  through  his  fancy 
at  thought  of  some  far  distant  time  when  Love,  per- 
chance, should  lowly  bend  to  him,  and  spirits  as  well 
as  lips  should  dare  to  meet  and  mingle.  His  altar 
fires  had  grown  cold. 

Afterwards  he  could  recall  but  little  of  what  he  had 
said  to  her.  Much  of  the  drive  homeward  would 
forever  remain  a  blank  to  him.  He  only  knew  that 
out  of  the  chaos  that  followed  upon  his  impetuosity 
something  within  him  whose  roots  reached  deep  down 
into  his  inmost  nature  sprang  into  life  and  bore  fruit 
in  the  course  he  had  felt  in  honor  bound  to  pursue. 
He  had  asked  her  to  be  his  wife.  Even  before  he  had 
done  this  she  had  assumed  that  the  compact  between 
them  was  already  sealed.  She  was  cheerfully  but 
very  quietly  acquiescent,  after  the  obligatory  words 
had  been  spoken ;  and  she  drew  a  little  away  from  him 
and  sat  looking  out  upon  the  purpling  woods,  her  face 
turned  toward  the  east,  with  a  cool  exultation  in  her 
eyes.  But  as  the  lovely  form  pressed  once  more  against 
him  at  parting,  her  voice  became  again  warm  and 
vibrant,  and  she  bent  down  to  whisper  in  his  ear  words 

147 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

that,  had  he  been  truly  her  lover,  would  have  set  his 
pulses  leaping  in  an  ecstasy  of  joy. 

After  he  had  left  her  he  had  walked  for  miles,  not 
knowing  nor  caring  whither  his  footsteps  tended,  yet 
driven  by  the  old  blind  savage  instinct  that  makes  the 
hurt  animal  seek  to  hide  its  pain  from  every  other  eye, 
and  that  always  translates  itself  into  a  demand  for 
solitude  imperative  and  not  to  be  denied.  That  there 
was  any  possible  escape  never  for  an  instant  occurred 
to  him.  He  was  brave,  brave  to  the  last  extremity  of 
valor;  yet  the  old-fashioned  chivalry  of  his  nature 
would  have  revolted  from  the  sort  of  courage  that 
would  have  dared  to  tell  her  the  truth.  He  knew  now 
that  she  had  deliberately  tempted  him,  but  there  was 
a  manliness  in  him  of  a  kind  that  refused  to  throw  the 
blame  on  her. 

He  went  softly  up  the  stairs,  hoping  that  his  mother 
would  be  sleeping,  and  cautious  not  to  wake  her.  At 
thought  of  her  a  lump  rose  in  his  throat  and  a  mist 
gathered  in  his  eyes.  How  —  how  could  he  bare  to 
tell  her  of  the  thing  that  was  weighing  him  down !  In 
the  exquisite  intimacy  that  existed  between  them, 
heretofore  it  had  been  possible  for  him  to  practise  a 
noble  frankness  that  was  spontaneous  and  not  in  the 
least  self-conscious;  so  that  she  fancied  that  she  knew 
him  through  and  through.  Her  ambition  for  him  was 
boundless,  he  well  knew  —  not  in  the  usual  vulgar 

148 


THE   AWAKENING 

way,  the  world's  way,  which  she  scorned,  but  as  re- 
garded everything  that  should  tend  toward  his  higher 
progress  and  development.  Intuitively  he  appre- 
hended what  opinion  she  would  hold  of  a  marriage 
between  him  and  Marian  Day.  There  had  been  no 
adverse  comment;  even  after  the  girl  was  no  longer 
under  her  protection,  and  where  some  freedom  of 
expression  with  regard  to  her  might  have  been  allowed, 
there  had  been  only  silence.  But  her  silence  had  told 
him  much;  and  now  with  that  clearer  perception  that 
had  come  to  him  on  his  awakening  from  his  midsummer 
madness,  he  realized  as  he  had  not  done  before  what 
an  impassable  gulf  of  separation  there  must  ever  be 
between  her  and  the  woman  who  henceforth  was  to 
stand  to  him  in  the  most  sacred  of  human  relations. 

As  he  passed  his  mother's  door,  she  called  his  name 
in  her  low  voice,  and  he  turned  the  knob  and  entered. 
It  had  been  the  custom  of  a  lifetime,  no  matter  how 
late  the  hour  when  he  returned,  for  him  to  come  in 
thus  and  speak  a  word  or  two.  If  she  were  sleeping 
he  only  kissed  her  on  the  brow  and  went  away  noise- 
lessly. It  was  what  he  had  thought  to  do  to-night. 
It  was  after  twelve,  and  her  hour  was  eleven.  He 
could  not  tell  her  yet!  Not  only  her  nerves  but  his 
own  would  need  the  bracing  power  of  daylight  for  the 
ordeal  that  sooner  or  later  he  would  have  to  inflict. 
To-night  he  would  spare  her.  He  had  forced  his 

149 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

features  to  something  like  their  usual  expression  when 
he  sat  down  on  the  bed  beside  her,  but  he  was  thankful 
for  the  deep  shadows  made  by  the  little  night  lamp  on 
the  table  at  her  side. 

"Why  aren't  you  asleep,  motherkins?"  he  tried  to 
ask  lightly;  "it  is  after  twelve.  Don't  you  know  I 
don't  allow  you  to  keep  late  hours  ? " 

She  smiled  softly,  lingeringly,  partly  to  him  and 
partly  to  herself  at  his  tone,  as  there  came  trooping 
into  her  mind  countless  recollections  of  the  pretty 
tyrannies  she  had  long  been  familiar  with,  and  that 
dated  in  truth  almost  from  his  baby  days.  She  was 
silent,  and  with  a  sudden  movement  he  leaned  toward 
her.  Then  he  took  her  face  in  both  his  hands  and 
kissed  her  twice  tenderly,  and  there  were  tears  in  his 
eyes.  A  great  longing  to  tell  her  everything,  to  loose 
the  curb  and  make  her  the  sharer  of  his  sorrow,  for  an 
instant  tempted  him,  as  with  an  instinct  that  was 
childlike  in  its  simplicity  he  turned  to  her  for  conso- 
lation. It  passed.  And  as  it  gave  way  to  another 
feeling,  sterner,  stronger,  part  of  his  youth  went  with 
it,  and  he  knew  that  never  again  could  he  come  to  her 
or  to  any  living  soul  for  ease  to  the  ache  which  his 
manhood  demanded  he  must  bear  alone. 

"Good  night,"  he  said,  very  gently,  and  sought  to 
rise,  but  she  drew  him  closer  to  her.  For  a  moment 
she  held  him  thus,  patting  his  cheek  with  her  firm, 

150 


THE   AWAKENING 

light  hand,  and  pausing  at  last  to  put  her  lips  to  his 
brow.  He  noticed  that  she  shivered  convulsively,  and 
there  was  a  slight  catch  in  her  voice  when  she  spoke 
at  last. 

"Don't  go,  dear,  not  for  a  little  while  yet;  there  is 
something  I  want  to  say  to  you." 

He  raised  himself,  and  looked  at  her  quickly.  Until 
then  he  had  avoided  her  eyes,  but  something  in  her 
tone  fell  strangely  on  his  ear  and  startled  him.  Had 
she  suspected  anything  ?  But  the  anxious,  half-plead- 
ing look  in  his  eyes,  like  that  of  a  dumb  animal  in  pain, 
gave  way  to  a  totally  different  expression.  He  started 
up.  For  the  first  time  he  realized  that  something  was 
strangely  wrong  with  her. 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked,  noting  how  white  and 
hollow-cheeked  she  looked.  A  pang  of  remorse  shot 
through  him.  How  he  had  been  neglecting  her! 
"What  is  it  you  want  to  say  to  me,  mother,  dear?" 
His  heart  was  pounding  heavily. 

She  played  a  little  with  the  bedspread  and  looked 
away. 

"Nothing  very  —  tedious.  Just  a  wee  little  talk 
about  —  about  my  health  —  and  one  other  thing." 

"Your  health!"  His  eyes  were  still  riveted  upon 
her,  and  his  voice  rang  out  tense  and  quivering  with 
alarm.  He  remembered  that  her  hand  when  it  had 
touched  his  face  had  seemed  to  him  hot  as  in  a  fever, 

151 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

but  he  had  been  too  overwrought  fully  to  realize  what 
that  might  mean  at  first,  self-conscious  as  he  had  been. 
His  gaze  wandered  helplessly  about  the  room,  its 
daintiness  and  refinement,  that  air  of  elegance  that 
pervaded  everything  in  any  way  associated  with  his 
mother,  notwithstanding  that  her  surroundings  were 
of  the  simplest,  forcing  itself  upon  his  attention  even 
then.  All  at  once  he  broke  forth. 

"  Oh ! "  he  cried,  "  you  have  been  ill,  and  you  didn't 
even  tell  me!" 

"But  I  am  better  to-night,"  she  answered,  softly, 
"and  there  was  no  need  to  alarm  you.  The  doctor 
came  at  half-past  five.  He  says  that  I  am  better,  too. 
Don't  worry,  darling." 

"  The  doctor !    At  half-past  five ! " 

Roger  turned  his  face  away  and  groaned  inwardly. 
He  took  a  turn  or  two  up  and  down  the  room.  Then 
he  came  back  and  sat  down  on  the  bed  beside  her. 
There  was  an  intensity  of  self-repression  written  on 
every  line  of  his  pale  face,  but  his  manner  was  calm 
and  a  little  imperious. 

"  How  long  has  this  been  going  on  ?  "  he  asked. 

She  hesitated.     "I  haven't  been  quite  well  for  — 
for  some  time." 

"For  some  time!  And  you  didn't  even  tell  me!" 
His  voice  tried  to  be  steady,  but  it  broke  again,  and  his 
lip  trembled. 

152 


THE   AWAKENING 

She  took  his  hand  in  both  her  own  and  held  it  fondly 
for  a  moment,  soothing  him  as  if  he  were  a  child. 
Then  she  pressed  it  against  her  cheek  and  looked  into 
his  eyes,  smiling.  But  his  sensitive  perception  had 
now  fully  grasped  what  she  was  striving  to  keep  from 
him  —  that  she  was  really  ill,  perhaps  seriously.  With 
the  realization  of  the  need  of  self-control,  the  necessity, 
possibly,  of  prompt  and  efficient  action,  he  awoke 
sternly  to  the  demands  of  the  situation.  All  at  once 
they  seemed  to  change  places,  and  he  was  the  elder. 
He  looked  her  very  quietly  in  the  eyes,  and  his  fingers 
tightened  about  hers. 

"  Now,  dear,"  he  said,  "  what  is  it  ?  Tell  me  — 
tell  me  everything." 

She  turned  her  face  away  for  the  briefest  possible 
space.  Then  she  told  him. 

He  sat  as  one  stunned.  "  But  Dr.  Beverley  is  not 
infallible.  He  has  been  known  to  make  mistakes.  I 
will  call  in  other  physicians,"  he  cried  at  last,  with 
sudden  vehemence,  rousing  himself  from  the  blow  that 
had  felled  him.  His  face  was  seamed  with  suffering. 
He  reached  out  his  hands  as  if  groping  in  the  dark. 

She  shook  her  head.  "  He  has  consulted  with  others. 
The  examination  shows  that  there  are  tuberculosis 
germs.  They  are  all  agreed  that  I  have  the  disease, 
but  as  yet  in  only  its  earliest  stage.  They  hold  out 
considerable  hope.  I  am  to  do  certain  things,  and  not 

153 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

to  do  others.     For  one  thing  I  am  not  to  worry  the 
least  little  bit  —  which  is  the  sort  of  advice  that  every 
one  gives  and  that  no  one  at  all  times  keeps  —  and  — 
and,  let  me  see  —  I  am  to  be  much  in  the  open  air, 
and  you  are  to  take  me  driving  every  day." 

"Oh!"  he  cried  —  "oh!"  and  covered  his  face  with 
his  hands,  heart-broken  and  unable  to  speak  another 
word,  as  there  swept  over  him  the  maddening  recollec- 
tion of  other  companionship  he  had  sought,  forgetful 
of  her  in  the  drives  he  had  taken  through  the  summer. 

"You  know  how  I  hate  to  go  with  you,"  she  said, 
playfully  and  quickly,  divining  the  cause  of  his  pain. 
"  That  terrible  horse  of  yours ! " 

He  raised  his  head,  slightly  comforted. 

"  Are  you  really  afraid  of  it  still  ?  " 

"  Horribly.  I  agree  with  the  psalmist  that '  an  horse 
is  a  vain  thing  for  safety.' " 

"  But  it  is  perfectly  gentle.  You  could  almost  drive 
it  yourself  now." 

She  broke  into  a  cheerful  little  laugh.  "  I  shouldn't 
like  to  try.  Sometimes  when  I  have  seen  you  starting 
off  I  have  half  wished  that  dear  old  farmer  friend  of 
yours  had  presented  you  with  a  cow." 

"But  I  couldn't  possibly  drive  a  cow,"  said  Roger, 
with  a  wan  smile,  striving  piteously  to  meet  her  mood. 

"  It  would  be  much  safer,"  she  answered,  with  gentle 
teasing. 

154 


THE   AWAKENING 

She  lay  quite  still  for  a  moment,  and  then  breathed 
a  deep  sigh. 

"You  can't  think  what  a  relief  it  is  now  that  you 
know.  The  thought  that  I  had  to  tell  you  has  been 
over  me  day  and  night.  It  was  making  me  sleepless 
and  iller  than  I  need  have  been,  and  to-day  Dr.  Bev- 
erley  suspected,  and  made  me  promise  that  I  would 
talk  to  you  as  soon  as  you  came  in.  You  see  it  isn't 
very  serious,  after  all." 

There  was  a  long  silence.  He  wanted  to  encourage 
her,  to  help  her  to  maintain  the  cheerful  view  which, 
in  his  ignorance  of  the  disease,  seemed  to  him  a  health- 
ful sign  and  the  one  straw  of  hope  left  to  him  to  clutch 
to.  But  he  couldn't  speak.  There  was  a  lump  in 
his  throat,  and  his  heart  was  like  lead  within  him. 

Presently  a  clock  in  a  church  steeple  sounded  the 
hour  of  one,  the  single  stroke  ringing  out  in  solemn 
reverberation  over  the  sleeping  town.  He  half  started 
up,  and  then  sat  down  again. 

"  But  there  is  something  else  ?  "  he  said. 

"Yes;  there  is  something  else." 

He  waited.  A  tremor  of  excitement  swept  through 
her,  and  her  eyes  grew  troubled  and  faltered. 

"I  believe  I  am  half  afraid  of  you,  you  dear  big 
thing.  To  think  I  ever  held  you  —  the  whole  of  you  — 
in  my  arms!" 

Still  he  waited.  His  own  breath  was  coming  hard. 
155 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

He  thought  he  knew  of  what  she  was  about  to  speak  to 
him,  and  his  heart  recoiled  in  anguish.  He  bowed  his 
head. 

"  Roger,  it  is  about  your  grandfather.  I  want  you 
to  go  to  see  him,"  she  said,  at  length,  with  a  sob  in  her 
voice.  "  I  know  that  you  think  he  has  been  cruel  — 
cruel,  and  it  is  hard  for  you  to  forgive;  you  are  so 
proud.  It  was  hard  for  your  father,  and  you  are  like 
him,  so  like  him  that  you  almost  startled  me  when  you 
first  came  in  to-night." 

She  lay  studying  her  son's  face,  its  high-bred  con- 
tours, the  stag-like  poise  of  the  head,  the  swift,  varying 
expression  in  the  dark  gray  eyes;  and  there  swept  over 
her,  as  it  had  done  a  thousand  times  recently,  a  poign- 
ant dread,  as  she  realized,  apart  from  prejudice,  its 
strength  and  lovableness,  its  quality  of  charm  that 
gave  a  certain  picturesqueness  to  his  simplest  action. 
But  her  tact  was  of  the  finest,  and  she  gave  no  voice  to 
the  secret  anxiety  that  she  kept  deep  down  in  her 
heart.  She  could  even  bring  herself  to  speak  to  him 
on  the  subject  which,  by  mutual  but  unspoken  agree- 
ment, had  not  been  mentioned  between  them  for  years 
—  but  not  that.  His  love  affairs  were  his  own. 

"I  dislike  to  ask  you,  dear.  But  I  know  you  will 
not  refuse  me,"  she  said,  presently. 

He  ran  his  hand  wearily  across  his  brow.  Then  it 
was  not  that. 

156 


THE   AWAKENING 

"  I  have  been  to  see  him,"  he  said,  slowly,  at  last. 
"He  was  not  there.  He  had  gone  East  to  consult  a 
specialist." 

She  looked  at  him  in  astonishment.  "You  have 
been!"  she  cried. 

"  I  promised  —  Judge  Fontaine." 

Her  expression  changed  from  wonderment  to  satis- 
faction. But  she  only  said  very  quietly: 

"He  has  just  returned.  I  should  like  you  to  go 
again,  if  you  will,  to-morrow,  or  if  not  then,  the  first 
day  that  you  can.  Roger,  you  will  do  this  for  me  ?  " 

He  did  not  answer.  But  as  she  turned  a  troubled, 
half  timid  look  upon  him,  he  bent  down  and  folded  his 
arms  about  her  in  an  agony  of  apprehension  and  of 
regret. 

"  Oh,  dear,  dear,  dearest,"  he  cried,  "  I  will.  There 
is  nothing  on  earth  I  wouldn't  do  for  you.  I  would 
give  my  life  for  you,  if  it  would  do  you  any  good. 
Try,  try  to  believe  I  would!" 


157 


CHAPTER  X 

JUDITH   ATTEMPTS  A   RUSE 

IT  was  Sunday  morning  a  few  days  later  and  the 
Beverleys  were  at  breakfast.  They  lived  in  a  large 
red-brick  house  with  tall  gray  pillars  and  a  high  porch 
in  front,  that  stood  some  distance  back  from  the  street 
and  was  on  a  line  with  the  home  of  Colonel  Theophilus 
Hart  and  of  Judge  Jeremiah  Fontaine. 

Nine  o'clock  had  just  sounded,  and  breakfast  was 
being  served  an  hour  later  than  on  week-days,  a  con- 
cession that  was  always  welcomed  with  delight  from 
Judith  to  the  youngest.  There  were  five  children  in 
all,  and  as  each  had  come  straggling  into  the  library  a 
few  moments  before,  a  short,  stout  gentleman  with 
a  smooth  face  and  a  sparsely  covered  head,  sitting  in 
an  armchair  near  the  window,  laid  down  his  morning 
paper,  smiled  cheerily  over  his  gold-rimmed  spectacles, 
and  pursed  up  his  lips  to  be  kissed.  Upon  their  steps, 
followed  by  the  negro  butler,  came  Mrs.  Beverley  in 
an  elaborate  morning  gown  of  pale  lavender  silk  with 
knots  of  purple  velvet  and  a  flowing  train  that  swept 

158 


JUDITH    ATTEMPTS   A    RUSE 

grandly  behind  her;  and  at  sight  of  her  Dr.  Beverley 
arose  with  all  the  alertness  his  stiffening  joints  would 
allow,  and  stood  bowing  as  before  a  queen.  Then  the 
procession  had  filed  into  the  dining-room  with  a  cere- 
mony that  was  somewhat  amusingly  in  contrast  with 
the  freedom  of  behavior  that  marked  the  entrance  of 
the  young  people  into  their  father's  presence  before 
the  arrival  of  their  more  august  parent. 

Dr.  Beverley  was  a  philosopher,  fortunately  for  him 
and  for  his  household.  There  is  a  type  of  man  whom 
Mrs.  Beverley  would  have  driven  to  desperation  with 
her  self-centered,  unceasing  demands,  her  determina- 
tion to  be  always  elegant,  and  her  pain  at  the  slightest 
infringement  upon  the  rules  of  life  and  conduct  which 
she  had  rigidly  laid  down.  But  there  existed  between 
the  two  a  harmony  that  was  seldom  disturbed;  and  in 
yielding  to  her  in  all  the  small  things  of  life  he  mani- 
fested the  large  tolerance  that  makes  a  man  none  the 
less  the  master  in  moments  of  important  decision. 
She  was  thirty-two  when  he  married  her,  a  widow, 
childless,  still  handsome,  and  very  much  sought  after, 
though  not  always  with  motives  so  worthy  as  were  the 
doctor's.  It  had  been  a  love  match,  in  spite  of  many 
seeming  incongruities;  and  he  had  remained  her  lover 
throughout  a  married  life  of  three-and-twenty  years. 

If  ever  a  man's  calling  was  stamped  upon  him,  Dr. 
Beverley  wore  the  marks  of  his.  His  pale  gray  eyes, 

159 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

keen,  sympathetic,  discerning,  possessing  a  power  of 
penetrative  insight  that  seemed  at  times  almost  clair- 
voyant, were  a  physician's  eyes,  the  eyes  of  one  who 
had  looked  long  upon  disease  and  death  and  suffering, 
it  is  true,  yet,  by  a  certain  wholesome  process  of  read- 
justment, a  nice  balancing  of  the  forces  that  upbuild 
with  those  that  destroy,  had  at  last  attained  a  hopeful 
peace :  the  humble  equipoise,  in  part  divine,  that  comes 
to  those  who  have  known  the  joy  of  healing.  His 
loose,  baggy  trousers,  his  soft  silk  tie  and  wide-brimmed 
hat,  sometimes  gave  an  impression  of  comicality  to 
those  who  saw  him  for  the  first  time.  But  it  vanished 
speedily  on  acquaintance;  and  no  one  who  had  once 
seen  him  at  the  bedside  of  the  truly  ailing  ever  again 
felt  disposed  to  laugh  at  any  eccentricity  of  his.  There, 
he  was  no  longer  a  queer  little  man  with  an  irascibility 
that  occasionally  wrestled  with  his  ordinary  cordial 
good-humor  and  overthrew  it,  but  a  giant  who  brought 
calm  and  reassurance  with  his  mere  presence. 

As  he  entered  the  dining-room  he  still  held  in  one 
hand  the  newspaper  which  he  had  not  finished  reading. 
On  sitting  down  he  had  first  carefully  folded  it  in  a 
peculiar  oblong  shape,  and  then  laid  it  on  the  table  at 
his  side,  not,  however,  daring  to  take  it  up  again, 
although  his  glance  fell  rather  longingly  upon  it  once 
or  twice  after  he  had  finished  his  cantaloupe. 

Judith  sat  next  to  him,  and  she  watched  him  with 
160 


JUDITH   ATTEMPTS   A   RUSE 

a  merry  twinkle  in  her  eyes.  Presently  she  bent  down 
and  examined  the  part  of  the  paper  that  was  upper- 
most. The  name  of  a  well-known  society  reporter 
glared  at  her  from  the  headlines. 

"What  is  Rosalie  Raymond  dilating  upon  to-day?" 
she  asked,  with  a  slightly  sarcastic  inflection,  not,  how- 
ever, intended  for  her  father,  whose  curious  interest  in 
other  people's  affairs  she  shared  and  fostered,  being 
ever  ready  dutifully  to  give  him  the  benefit  of  her  own 
superior  and  extensive  knowledge  with  regard  to  the 
latest  happenings  of  the  town.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
the  doctor  was  as  gossipy  as  an  old  woman;  and  he 
was  only  prevented  by  professional  demands  from 
devouring  daily  and  with  keenest  relish  the  personal 
notes  and  comments  that  took  up  a  large  portion  of  the 
space  of  the  local  newspapers. 

He  scowled  a  little  impatiently,  stirred  his  coffee 
with  an  air  of  preoccupation,  and  compelled  her  to 
repeat  the  question. 

Judith  was  not  easily  disconcerted.  Moreover,  she 
began  to  suspect  that  there  was  something  in  that 
particular  chronicle  which  she  had  not  seen,  of  special 
importance,  possibly  of  individual  concern,  and  that 
her  father  was  eager  to  impart  it,  being  only  restrained 
by  her  mother's  unrelenting  exaction  with  reference  to 
the  proper  decorum  and  topics  to  be  made  use  of  at 
meal  times. 

161 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

"  I  don't  see  what  she  finds  to  write  about.  Nothing 
ever  happens  in  this  dull  old  town,"  she  remarked,  with 
the  deliberate  purpose  of  drawing  him  out. 

The  doctor's  glance  wandered  the  length  of  the 
table,  and  rested  upon  one  after  another  of  his  hungry 
progeny,  lingering  finally  with  Mrs.  Beverley  in  a  sort 
of  shamefaced  inquiry.  But  the  suave  features  gave 
no  sign. 

"I  should  say  that  she  finds  a  good  deal,"  he  an- 
swered, helping  himself  to  another  choice  bit  of  broiled 
chicken,  and  allowing  himself  to  skirt  with  careful 
agility  about  the  tempting  subject,  keeping  always  a 
watchful  eye  upon  his  wife.  "She  appears  to  be  in  a 
particularly  felicitous  mood  this  morning,  and  she  is 
simply  bubbling  over  with  merriment  like  a  happy 
child.  There  is  never  anything  barbed  in  her  pleas- 
antries." 

A  slender  blonde  boy  at  the  far  end  of  the  table 
looked  up  from  his  plate. 

"  Isn't  there  ?  "  he  inquired,  sardonically.  "  You  just 
wait  until  her  bow  is  aimed  at  you." 

Judith  regarded  him  coolly  for  an  instant.  "Oh, 
that's  because  she  called  you  a  boy  the  other  day,  and 
you  want  to  be  treated  as  a  decrepit  old  man  with  a 
crutch  and  a  cane,"  she  observed,  with  a  shrug. 

The  boy  knew  better  than  to  reply,  but  his  face 
flushed.  He  was  next  in  point  of  age  to  Judith, 

162 


JUDITH    ATTEMPTS   A   RUSE 

although  her  junior  by  four  years.  He  was  a  hand- 
some lad  of  seventeen,  or  thereabout,  very  much  like 
his  mother,  and  distinctly  her  favorite  of  all  her  chil- 
dren. He  went  on  eating  in  sullen  silence,  and  the 
doctor,  ignoring  the  slight  interruption,  began  again. 

"She  is  a  most  remarkable  young  woman,  and  she 
is  always  entertaining.  I  am  confident  that  her  pen 
alone  does  more  to  attract  subscribers  to  the  paper 
than  the  entire  force  combined.  It  was  not  for  naught 
that  I  brought  her  safely  through  the  whooping-cough 
and  the  measles  and  the  rest  of  her  childish  disorders." 

Mrs.  Beverley  coughed  elegantly. 

"  Is  there  —  ahem  —  is  there  anything  of  special 
interest  that  she  has  to  relate  this  morning  ?  Otherwise 
I  think  we  would  better  speak  of  something  else." 

The  doctor  looked  mysterious. 

"  Just  as  you  please,  my  dear.  But  there  was  — 
one  thing." 

A  gleam  of  curiosity  shone  in  Mrs.  Beverley's  eyes. 
She  raised  herself  slightly  and  sat  waiting,  a  reposeful 
figure,  yet  expectant.  But  the  doctor  now  appeared 
disposed  to  let  the  topic  fall. 

"Who  is  that  young  woman  who  is  staying  at  Tim 
CaldwelPs  ?  "  he  asked,  with  seeming  irrelevance. 

"An  adventuress,"  cut  in  Judith,  shortly. 

Mrs.  Beverley  was  amiably  annoyed.  Judith's 
bluntness  and  indiscretion  of  speech  were  things  that 

163 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

she  found  it  impossible  to  reconcile  herself  to.  The 
fact  that  the  girl  disdained  all  polish  was  something 
that  she  had  learned  to  face,  gradually,  and  after 
countless  failures  in  the  attempt  to  mold  her  into 
something  that  she  at  last  realized  her  eldest  daughter 
could  never  be.  But  that  the  two  younger  girls, 
children  though  they  still  were,  should  have  before 
them  constantly  an  example  of  such  daring  disregard 
of  all  her  precepts  threatened  a  state  of  things  for  the 
future  that  she  by  no  means  relished.  In  the  mean- 
time the  two  sons,  the  elder  in  particular,  were  her 
hope  and  her  consolation. 

"An  adventuress,  is  she?"  inquired  the  doctor, 
gravely.  "I  am  sorry  for  that,  very  sorry  for  that, 
indeed."  He  was  silent  for  a  moment,  as  if  weighing 
the  matter  with  all  seriousness  from  a  varied  point  of 
view.  "  She  is  a  strikingly  beautiful  person,  but  not  — 
not  altogether  pleasing.  I  have  met  her  driving  with 
young  Boiling  a  number  of  times  recently,  sometimes  far 
from  home,  and  I  have  wanted  to  shoo  them  back  to 
town.  I  don't  like  that  young  woman's  face,  and  I  have 
an  idea  that  Mrs.  Boiling  wouldn't  fancy  it  any  more 
than  I  do.  How  much  longer  is  she  to  remain  here  ?  " 

Mrs.    Beverley   turned   to   her  youngest   daughter, 
whose  eyes  were  wide  and  wondering. 

"Eat  your  waffle,  darling,  it  is  getting  cold,"  she 
commanded,  with  difficulty  restraining  her  amusement, 

164 


JUDITH   ATTEMPTS   A   RUSE 

which  ventured  to  break  forth  into  one  of  her  pro- 
longed spells  of  laughter  at  sight  of  the  child's  interested 
but  bewildered  expression.  Then  she  looked  toward 
the  doctor. 

"  Mrs.  Caldwell's  guest,  do  you  mean  ?  She  is  to 
remain  some  time  longer,  I  believe.  Mrs.  Caldwell 
told  me  in  a  shop  yesterday  that  there  was  an  epidemic 
of  diphtheria  or  something  in  Jefferson  County  where 
Miss  Day  teaches  school,  aad  she  thought  it  would 
be  dangerous  for  her  to  return." 

"Humph!"  replied  the  doctor,  shortly.  "It  may 
be  even  more  dangerous  for  her  to  remain." 

He  sat  tapping  with  one  fat  forefinger  upon  the 
table-cloth.  He  had  forgotten  all  about  his  breakfast, 
and  his  mind  was  busy  with  the  solution  of  a  problem 
that  had  given  him  no  little  anxiety  of  late,  the  prob- 
lem of  the  secret  sorrow  that  seemed  to  be  at  the  root 
of  Mrs.  Boiling's  illness. 

"How  is  Mrs.  Boiling?"  his  wife  asked,  seeing  his 
disturbed  looks,  and  beginning  to  realize  at  last  that 
there  was  something  back  of  his  seemingly  idle  ques- 
tioning. 

The  doctor  ran  his  hand  wearily  across  his  brow. 
"Worse,  very  much  worse,"  he  said,  briefly.  Then 
his  eyes  fell  upon  the  paper  again  at  his  side,  and 
regardless  of  disapproval  he  snatched  it  up  and  turned 
to  a  short  notice. 

165 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

"Can  any  of  you  tell  me  who  is  meant  by  this?" 
he  demanded.  He  pronounced  the  words  very  slowly 
and  distinctly,  first  adjusting  his  eyeglasses  with  great 
deliberation.  He  read: 

" '  One  of  the  most  interesting  of  the  numerous 
matrimonial  rumors  afloat  concerns  a  beautiful  auburn- 
haired  young  woman,  who  has  been  for  the  past  six 
weeks  a  guest  of  this  place,  and  a  handsome  young 
attorney  of  distinguished  pedigree,  who  is  very  much 
liked  both  in  social  and  professional  circles.  This 
column  does  not  venture  to  be  more  explicit,  but,  in 
reference  to  the  happy  bridegroom  that  is  to  be,  it 
may  be  suggestive  to  say  that  an  excellent  model 
doubtless  lurks  for  him  in  one  of  his  initials  —  which 
is  the  name  of  a  certain  diligent  and  much  lauded 
insect  of  whose  virtues  his  success  gives  evidence  of 
imitation.' ' 

As  in  sonorous  tones  the  paragraph  rolled  from  the 
doctor's  h'ps,  Judith's  face  blanched.  She  sat  clutch- 
ing her  napkin  in  her  lap,  twisting  it  into  a  number 
of  vicious  little  folds,  but  she  dared  not  trust  herself  to 
speak.  With  the  usual  injustice  of  the  shallow-hearted, 
after  the  first  shock  of  surprise  and  angry  disappoint- 
ment had  subsided,  she  had  transferred  her  emotion 
from  the  real  cause  to  the  person  merely  indirectly 
associated  with  her  pain;  and  had  the  power  of  an 
ancient  queen  been  hers,  and  had  the  bearer  of  such 

166 


JUDITH   ATTEMPTS    A   RUSE 

» 

unpleasant  tidings  been  brought  into  her  presence,  it 
assuredly  had  fared  ill  with  the  society  reporter  in 
that  moment. 

But  she  was  saved  from  the  awkwardness  of  the 
situation  by  a  diversion.  A  servant  entered  with  a 
telephone  message  for  the  doctor.  The  case  was 
urgent.  The  doctor  pushed  back  his  plate,  mur- 
mured an  apology,  and  left  at  once. 

Half  an  hour  afterwards  Judith  was  walking  quickly 
down  the  little  gravel  foot-path  toward  the  gate. 
With  one  hand  she  held  up  the  skirt  of  her  white  lawn 
gown,  and  with  the  other  she  grasped  the  handle  of  a 
large  wicker  basket  filled  with  fruit  which  she  had 
herself  selected  from  the  pantry's  abundance  with 
most  particular  care.  The  September  sun  shone 
gloriously,  but  now  and  then  a  searing  leaf  was  blown 
across  the  lawn,  and  at  sight  of  it,  Judith,  who  was  not 
ordinarily  given  to  a  discernment  of  the  symbolic  in 
the  manifestations  of  nature,  being  of  the  prosaic 
type  to  which  the  primrose  by  the  river's  brim  might 
suggest  a  becoming  color  for  a  ball  gown,  but  scarcely 
anything  more  serious,  set  her  teeth  together  and 
choked  back  the  tears  that  sprang  into  her  eyes.  By 
a  thoroughly  commonplace  association  of  ideas  the 
thought  of  withered  hopes  and  withered  leaves  became 
entangled,  so  that  it  was  not  until  she  had  reached  her 

167 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

destination,  a  small  one-story  brick  building  a  short 
distance  up  the  street,  that  she  was  able  to  force  her 
features  into  their  usual  expression  of  half  stolid 
unconcern. 

She  was  bent  upon  a  somewhat  difficult  mission, 
and  one  that  a  more  sensitive  nature  would  have 
shrunk  from.  But  she  was  not  one  to  suffer  the  agony 
of  uncertainty  while  there  were  any  possible  means 
of  relief.  Hers  were  not  to  be  the  midnight  vigils 
born  of  suspense,  if  she  could  help  it;  and  she  was  of 
the  opinion  that  she  could  help  it  by  a  few  well  chosen 
inquiries  directed  to  the  author  of  that  most  disturb- 
ing notice.  Doubtless,  she  decided,  there  was  no 
truth  in  it,  and  it  was  only  one  of  those  daring  news- 
paper announcements  that  are  sometimes  made  at 
the  sacrifice  of  the  individual  for  the  sake  of  a  sensa- 
tion. Rosalie  Raymond  was  quite  equal  to  that,  she 
believed. 

Miss  Raymond  was  at  home,  the  servant  informed 
her,  and  would  see  Miss  Beverley  on  the  porch. 

Judith,  still  clutching  her  basket  of  fruit,  and  with 
a  slightly  quickening  heart-throb,  followed  the  negro 
maid  through  the  dimly  lighted  hall,  and  was  ushered 
out  upon  a  comfortable  veranda,  shady  with  vines, 
and  furnished  like  a  little  sitting-room,  where  there 
were  rugs  and  cool,  inviting-looking  chairs,  a  sofa  with 
pillows,  and  a  table  in  the  center  strewn  with  books. 

168 


JUDITH   ATTEMPTS   A   RUSE 

In  a  hammock  at  the  far  end  of  the  porch  a  young 
woman  lay  with  magazines  and  newspapers  to  the  right 
and  left  of  her.  She  was  a  very  pretty  young  woman, 
rosy-cheeked,  brown-eyed,  brown-haired,  with  a  sweetly 
innocent  little  laugh  that  somewhat  belied  the  caustic 
pen  she  wielded.  At  sight  of  Judith  and  her  burden 
a  ripple  of  merriment  swept  across  her  face,  and  the 
very  apt  quotation,  "  I  fear  the  Greeks  when  they  come 
bringing  gifts,"  flashed  into  her  mind.  But  she  held 
out  a  thoroughly  cordial  hand.  She  made  an  effort  to 
rise  and  half  a  dozen  magazines  tumbled  to  the  floor, 
but  left  her  still  entangled. 

"You  see  I  can't  give  you  a  decent  welcome,"  she 
said,  as  she  struggled  to  her  feet. 

"OH,  don't  bother,"  replied  Judith,  with  a  shrug. 
"You  know  I  don't  go  in  for  ceremony;  I  have  enough 
of  that  sort  of  thing  at  home."  She  put  down  her 
basket.  "I  have  brought  you  some  fruit.  These 
pears  are  delicious;  I  ate  three  at  breakfast.  I  thought 
you  might  like  to  have  some." 

The  tone  was  entirely  matter-of-fact,  and  it  was 
even  a  trifle  misleading.  Miss  Raymond  was  half 
ashamed  of  herself.  Yet  she  found  it  a  little  difficult 
to  be  persuaded  into  the  belief  that  Judith's  ap- 
pearance on  that  particular  morning  prognosticated 
nothing. 

She  was  a  young  woman  who  had  taken  up  journalism 
169 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

as  a  fad  and  was  pursuing  it  as  a  necessity;  only 
she  would  have  said  that  it  was  pursuing  her.  Well- 
born, well-read,  distinctly  clever,  she  had  soon  wearied 
of  society  as  an  aim  and  sought  another  outlet  for  her 
pent-up  energies  and  nimble  wits.  For  a  while  it  had 
rather  entertained  her  to  send  to  the  local  newspapers 
desultory  sketches  of  passing  events,  worked  up  with 
considerable  selective  ability  and  expressed  with  a 
certain  dash  and  daring,  coupled  with  discretion,  that 
made  her  a  valuable  acquisition  to  an  editor.  But 
there  had  come  a  reversal  of  fortune,  and  with  the 
absolute  need  for  its  continuance,  her  zest  for  her  wrork 
had  vanished.  She  had  grown  to  loathe  it.  It  had 
given  her,  it  is  true,  a  knowledge  of  human  nature 
which,  without  its  assistance,  she  might  have  been  years 
in  acquiring.  But  it  was  the  sort  of  knowledge  she 
would  rather  not  have  had.  Already  that  particular 
notice  was  weighing  heavily  upon  her  conscience.  She 
hated  the  very  wording  of  it;  she  hated  the  whole 
tiresome  thing.  What  was  it  to  her  who  was  married 
or  to  be  given  in  marriage  ?  And  why  all  this  ceaseless 
twaddle  about  the  inane  affairs  of  people  for  whom  she 
didn't  care  a  straw  ?  It  seemed  to  her,  as  she  pondered, 
an  unworthy  pandering  to  the  low  curiosity  of  the 
vulgar;  and  more  than  once  the  proud  face  of  Roger 
Boiling,  flushed,  indignant,  had  come  before  her, 
sternly  demanding  explanation  of  her  unwarrantable 

170 


JUDITH   ATTEMPTS   A   RUSE 

liberty  with  his  name.     And  yet  —  was  she  not  privi- 
leged in  this  instance? 

Judith  was  sitting  on  the  edge  of  her  chair,  as  if 
intending  to  leave  immediately,  her  errand  having  been 
accomplished.  She  gave  an  approving  glance  around. 

"You  certainly  are  very  comfortable  here,"  she 
observed  in  a  low  tone  that  was  intended  to  be  concilia- 
tory, but  somehow  fell  just  a  little  short  of  compliment, 
owing  to  a  characteristic  defect  that  made  the  critical 
her  more  natural  form  of  expression. 

Rosalie  Raymond  coughed  softly.  She  was  begin- 
ning to  be  entertained.  Her  keen  insight  had  given 
her  a  knowledge  of  her  fellow-being  that  had  left  her, 
in  the  main,  pitying  rather  than  contemptuous.  Judith 
was  not  at  all  difficult,  ordinarily.  Nor  was  she  par- 
ticularly appealing.  But  to-day  there  was  that  in  her 
clumsiness  that  seemed  touching. 

"  Comfortable,  am  I  ?  "  she  echoed.  "  But  it  is  what 
you  are  not.  Do  lean  back  a  little,  Judith.  You  look 
as  if  you  had  not  a  proper  appreciation  of  my  pretty 
pink  pillows.  Your  mother  never  touches  the  back  of 
her  chair,  I  know,  but  she  is  of  the  old  regime,  and 
we  —  alas,  we  are  the  degenerates.  I  can't  have  too 
many  soft  cushions  about  me,  and  I  delight  in  eider- 
down, and  all  that  it  stands  for." 

"But  I  really  can't  stay,"  said  Judith;  "and  it  is 
time  for  you  to  dress  for  church." 

171 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

"  Don't  think  me  quite  a  heathen,  but  I  am  not  going 
to  church.  I  am  too  horribly  tired." 

"  I  don't  wonder,"  assented  Judith,  sympathetically. 

"Yesterday  was  a  most  overwhelmingly  busy  day. 
I  had  half  a  dozen  things  to  report,  and  there  were 
innumerable  small  items  which  I  had  to  record." 

"  But  you  don't  have  to  be  particularly  accurate,  do 
you,  when  writing  up  the  small  notices  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes.  The  small  ones  are  quite  as  important 
as  the  large  ones;  sometimes  a  little  more  so." 

"  But  I  mean  —  "  Judith  stumbled,  but  regained  her 
equilibrium  — "  oh,  I  just  mean  about  rumors  and 
tilings  like  that.  You  don't,  of  course,  try  to  be  strictly 
accurate  when  mentioning  matters  that  are  merely 
hearsay,  do  you  ?  " 

"Yes;  I  always  try  to  be  accurate,  and  I  seldom 
mention  matters  that  are  merely  hearsay." 

Judith's  eyes  grew  round  and  a  faint  color  crept 
into  her  cheeks.  She  opened  her  mouth  to  speak 
and  then  closed  it  again.  She  was  breathing  quickly. 

Rosalie  Raymond's  eyes  were  downcast.  She  lay 
toying  with  the  fringe  on  her  hammock.  She  did  not 
appear  to  take  the  smallest  notice  of  the  girl's  agita- 
tion, but  one  swift  glance  out  of  her  heavily  fringed 
lashes  had  told  her  the  whole  pathetic  story. 

"  You  see,  I  simply  have  to  be  always  strictly  accu- 
rate, to  use  your  phrase,"  she  said.  Her  voice  had 

172 


JUDITH   ATTEMPTS   A    RUSE 

grown  very  kind.  "If  I  were  not,  I  might  possibly 
get  the  paper  into  all  sorts  of  trouble,  and,  of  course,  I 
should  dislike  to  do  anything  like  that.  Then,  for 
purely  selfish  reasons,  I  do  not  want  to  make  any 
blunders;  I  have  my  little  prides  and  ambitions.  And 
I  also  have  a  conscience,  though  there  be  some  who 
are  disposed  to  doubt  that.  ,1  confess  that  it  is  not 
always  at  peace,  in  spite  of  my  boasted  exactness." 

Judith  sat  bolt  upright.  With  an  impatient  move- 
ment she  freed  herself  from  the  all-encompassing 
pillows.  She  flung  one  to  the  extreme  end  of  the 
sofa. 

"  This  thing  is  making  me  so  hot ! "  she  exclaimed, 
irritably.  She  slowly  drew  on  her  gloves.  Then  she 
rose,  hearkening  to  the  church  bells.  "I  am  afraid 
I  am  going  to  be  too  late,"  she  said.  "If  I  guess," 
she  added,  carelessly,  "who  was  meant  by  your  refer- 
ence to  'the  little  busy  bee,'  will  you  tell  me  whether 
I  am  right  or  not  ?  " 

Rosalie  Raymond  hesitated  for  the  briefest  possible 
space. 

"I  will,"  she  answered,  looking  away. 

"You  meant  Marjorie  Randall  and  Howard  Bloom- 
field,  of  course." 

"But  Mr.  Bloomfield  is  not  'a  handsome  young 
attorney  of  distinguished  pedigree,'  and  Miss  Randall 
is  not  'a  beautiful  visitor  with  auburn  locks."5 

173 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

"Then  it  is  that  little  red-haired  Miss  Earlston,  of 
Philadelphia,  and  Bernard  Grayson.  He  certainly  is  a 
lawyer,  and  one  of  his  initials  is  B." 

"No,  no.  You  are  wrong  again.  I  give  you  one 
more  guess." 

Judith  looked  thoughtful  for  a  moment,  and  finally 
shook  her  head. 

"I  am  afraid  I  shall  have  to  give  it  up,"  she  said. 
Two  bright  little  spots  burned  in  her  cheeks,  and  her 
voice  broke  a  little.  "Perhaps,  if  I  could  stay  longer 
I  might  think  of  the  right  ones,  but  that  is  the  last 
bell,  and  I  have  to  go.  I  was  never  very  good  at  guess- 
ing." 

But  Rosalie  Raymond  knew  that  Judith  had  already 
guessed.  After  she  had  gone,  she  leaned  toward  the 
table  that  was  beside  her  hammock,  and  from  one  of 
the  books  in  which  she  had  hurriedly  placed  it  she 
took  forth  a  letter,  which  she  had  been  re-reading  when 
Judith's  name  was  brought  to  her.  It  was  in  a  light- 
blue  envelope,  and  was  adddressed  in  a  bold,  would-be- 
fashionable  handwriting,  a  rather  aggressive  monogram 
adorning  the  sheet  within.  It  ran: 

"  MY  DEAR  Miss  RAYMOND,  —  You  asked  me  to  let 
you  know  when  I  should  leave  Lexington,  and  I  am 
going  to  make  you  the  sharer  of  my  happy  secret  to 
the  extent  of  saying  that  I  have  decided  to  remain 
indefinitely.  Mr.  Boiling  and  I  are  not  quite  ready 

174 


JUDITH    ATTEMPTS   A   RUSE 

for  any  formal  announcement  of  our  engagement  as 
yet  —  in  fact  we  have  not  even  discussed  the  matter 
of  the  announcement  at  all,  having,  as  you  will,  of 
course,  readily  understand,  more  absorbing  subjects 
just  now  to  entertain  us.  But  I  realize  how  much  it 
must  be  to  a  reporter  to  be  the  first  to  make  mention 
of  any  item  of  interest,  and  therefore  if,  without  call- 
ing any  names,  and  merely  by  way  of  innuendo,  you 
should  care  to  make  a  reference  to  what  I  have  told 
you,  you  may  feel  privileged  to  do  so.  I  know  that 
you  will  do  this  in  your  own  brilliant  and  charming 
style,  and  that  you  will  be  glad  to  have  me  take  you, 
in  this  friendly  way,  into  my  confidence.  Believe  me, 
with  warm  appreciation  of  the  many  delightful  and 
flattering  things  you  have  already  said  of  me, 
Very  cordially  yours, 

MARIAN  DAY. 


175 


CHAPTER  XI 

COLONEL  THEOPHILUS  HART 

ON  the  same  Sunday  morning  Roger  had  waked 
out  of  a  troubled  sleep,  and  was  startled  to  find  that 
the  day  was  already  far  advanced.  All  through  the 
early  hours  of  the  night  he  had  tossed,  brain-racked 
and  well-nigh  distracted,  his  mind  grappling,  as  on 
the  several  nights  previous,  with  the  hard  realities  that 
confronted  him,  and  knowing  them  even  more  impla- 
cable than  when  first  encountered.  His  mother's  seri- 
ous illness,  hitherto  unsuspected,  followed  him  like  a 
specter.  There  was  no  escape  from  it,  and  it  added 
a  new  and  appalling  condition  to  a  situation  already 
sufficiently  difficult;  so  that  to  inflict  upon  her  now  the 
crushing  fact  of  his  engagement  seemed  a  brutality 
that  he  could  not  for  an  instant  consider.  And  yet, 
how  could  he  hope  long  to  keep  it  from  her?  Every 
wind  that  blew  would  waft  to  her  the  story  of  his  fatal 
blunder.  She  would  hear  it  in  the  careful  avoid- 
ance of  her  friends  as  well  as  in  the  unrestrained 
reference  of  more  thoughtless  persons.  Above  all, 

176 


COLONEL   THEOPHILUS    HART 

she  would  hear  it  in  his  own  tender,  remorseful  solici- 
tude, as  he  sought  to  shield  her  with  unceasing  care. 
For  upon  one  thing  he  was  sternly  determined;  that 
he  would  devote  himself  to  her  with  an  assiduity  which, 
for  the  present,  should  admit  of  no  conflicting  claim. 
It  was  the  only  concession  he  could  make,  the  only 
atonement  he  could  offer.  His  honor,  deep-rooted, 
instinctive  —  embryonic  as  yet  with  regard  to  the  con- 
ception of  the  sanctity  of  the  marriage  relation  —  was 
unrelenting  in  the  elementary  acceptance  of  the  irrevo- 
cableness  of  his  compact. 

But,  though  there  was  relief  for  him  in  that  decision, 
he  was  still  far  too  perturbed  to  sleep,  and  it  was  not 
till  long  after  midnight  that  he  had  sunk  into  a  sort  of 
semi-conscious  state  in  which  vague,  confusing  images 
floated  slowly  before  his  eyes,  now  alluring,  now  men- 
acing, while  all  the  time  there  sounded  a  faint  dirge- 
like  monotone,  to  the  accompaniment  of  which  his  soul 
seemed  ever  slipping  down,  down  into  an  unknown 
and  fathomless  abyss. 

At  last  he  had  fallen  into  the  deep  sleep  of  exhaus- 
tion, and  finally  he  had  dreamed.  The  ocean  was  all 
about  him,  and  he  was  on  a  burning  ship  from  which 
there  was  no  escape.  In  the  midst  of  the  pandemo- 
nium of  shrieks  and  curses,  the  frenzy  of  desperation 
on  every  side,  now  and  then  a  voice  would  be  raised 
in  prayer,  and  gradually  the  realization  would  be  borne 

177 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

in  upon  him  that  it  was  his  own  voice,  beseeching 
Heaven  for  others  and  for  himself;  and  then,  as  he 
stood,  keeping  his  eyes  turned  resolutely  upward  despite 
the  horror,  sometimes  he  would  see  a  spirit  take  its 
flight  and,  longing  unspeakably  to  follow,  would  know 
that  he  could  not,  because  his  time  had  not  yet  come. 
His  it  was  to  wait,  and  wait,  and  wait,  while  the  de- 
moniac flames  writhed,  and  leaped,  and  crackled,  and 
the  sea  grew  grim  and  terrible  beneath  the  awful  red 
light.  At  length  a  loud  report  echoed  over  the  heav- 
ing waters;  the  ship  seemed  to  pause  an  instant,  and 
then  a  mighty  shiver  shook  it,  and  it  rocked  and 
trembled  like  a  thing  alive  and  in  agony.  Then  it 
began  slowly  to  sink.  But  when  he  opened  his  eyes 
again  and  turned  for  a  last  look  about  him  a  shock  of 
surprise  went  through  him;  for  it  seemed  that  he  had 
been  all  along  almost  in  sight  of  land.  The  ship  had 
drifted  to  harbor  and  he  was  the  last  one  left  aboard. 
On  the  shore  a  white-robed  figure  stood  reaching  out 
lovely,  beseeching  arms.  As  he  gazed  the  figure  grew 
distinct,  then  beautiful,  then  familiar.  With  a  low  cry 
he  sprang  into  the  waves.  He  woke  with  a  start,  a 
name  still  lingering  on  his  lips.  For  the  face  was  one 
that  he  must  not  remember,  and  the  name  was  the 
name  of  Sibyl  Fontaine. 

He  lay  for  a  moment  unable  to  grasp  the  actual, 
dazed,  and  quivering  in  every  nerve.     His  eyes  still 

178 


COLONEL   THEOPHILUS    HART 

held  the  look  of  awe  and  rapture  that  had  sprung  into 
them  just  before  he  waked.  But  as  there  rushed  over 
him  the  acute  consciousness  of  his  present  misery, 
heightened  in  that  instant  by  contrast  with  the  ultimate 
peace  of  his  dream,  a  wave  of  despair  swept  over  him, 
and  at  thought  of  what  he  had  lost  of  the  best  of  life 
a  stifled  groan  broke  from  him  and  he  buried  his  face 
in  the  pillow. 

But  he  had  grown  outwardly  calm  when  he  came 
down-stairs  a  few  moments  later,  and  as  usual  he  had 
forced  his  features  to  an  expression  that  concealed  his 
inward  perturbation,  when  he  sought  his  mother's 
presence.  He  had  dressed  hurriedly,  disturbed  that 
he  had  kept  her  waiting. 

But  she  was  not  sitting  in  her  accustomed  seat  by 
the  window  as  he  had  thought  she  should  be;  nor  was 
she  anywhere  around.  With  quickly  beating  heart  he 
was  starting  up-stairs  again  when  a  servant  met  him 
with  a  note  —  a  few  hurried  words  which  she  had 
scribbled  in  pencil  to  tell  him  that  she  had  not  slept 
well  during  the  night  and  was  then  feeling  a  little 
drowsy,  so  that  she  would  not  join  him  at  breakfast. 
She  expressed  the  wish  that  he  would  take  that  morning 
to  make  another  attempt  to  see  his  grandather,  the 
visit  of  a  day  or  two  before  having  failed  of  its  purpose, 
and  suggested  that  he  go  a  few  moments  before  church 
time. 

179 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

There  was  something  urgent  in  her  insistence,  despite 
the  playfulness  and  the  airy  grace  of  the  note  —  so 
characteristic  of  her  that  even  in  that  moment  he  was 
conscious  of  its  elegance  —  something  that  seemed  to 
imply  a  reason  for  haste;  and  with  a  sickening  dread 
Roger  took  out  a  card  and  wrote  his  answer. 

"Give  that  to  her,"  he  said,  "if  she  should  wake 
before  I  return." 

He  rang  for  James,  and  then  again  wandered  into 
the  little  drawing-room  and  sat  down  beside  his 
mother's  chair.  The  morning  newspapers  were  lying 
on  the  table,  and  as  he  waited  for  his  breakfast  to  be 
served  in  the  adjoining  room,  mechanically  he  picked 
up  the  one  that  happened  to  be  uppermost.  He  ran 
carelessly  over  the  headlines,  and  then,  as  James  was 
slow,  he  opened  the  paper  and  glanced  down  the  inner 
portions.  By  the  merest  chance,  for  he  did  not  share 
Dr.  Beverley's  interest  in  the  personal  affairs  of  his 
neighbors,  his  eye  was  caught  by  something  on  Rosalie 
Raymond's  page.  An  instant  afterward  he  drew  in 
his  breath,  and  a  smothered  exclamation  broke  from 
him.  Then  he  slowly,  as  if  weighing  every  word,  re- 
read the  notice  relating  to  himself  and  Marian  Day. 

For  a  long  time  he  sat  perfectly  still,  holding  the  paper 
in  his  hand,  and  thinking  deeply.  Then  the  indigna- 
tion in  his  face  gave  way  to  another  expression  —  an 
expression  of  intensest  shame.  A  horrible  suspicion 

180 


COLONEL   THEOPHILUS    HART 

had  flashed  into  his  mind,  and  it  had  left  him  com- 
pletely crushed  and  humiliated.  For  it  was  something 
that  even  in  his  most  secret  thoughts  he  could  not  quite 
bring  himself  to  formulate. 

With  an  abrupt  gesture  he  rose  and,  crumpling  the 
paper  in  his  hands,  flung  it  into  the  grate.  Then  he 
put  a  match  to  it,  and  stood  grimly  watching  it  as  it 
crisped  and  burned. 

Half  an  hour  afterwards  he  was  on  his  way  to  his 
grandfather's,  the  painful  tension  he  had  been  under 
finding  a  certain  relief  in  movement,  and  in  the  thought 
that  he  was  obeying  his  mother's  most  earnest  desire. 
The  dread  which  ordinarily  he  would  have  felt  of  the 
encounter,  and  which  he  had  been  conscious  of  on 
each  of  the  two  former  occasions  when  he  had  sought 
an  interview  with  the  stern  old  soldier  who  had  main- 
tained through  all  the  years  such  an  unrelenting  atti- 
tude toward  his  mother  and  himself,  was  overbalanced 
by  other  emotions  far  more  potent  and  disturbing. 

So  far  as  he  himself  was  concerned  he  cared  little 
for  the  outcome.  His  grandfather  had  never  been 
aught  to  him  but  a  stranger,  and  he  felt  no  disposition 
to  heal  the  breach  that  had  been  of  Colonel  Hart's 
own  making.  But  for  his  mother's  sake  he  did  hope 
that  he  would  to  some  extent  be  able  to  bring  about  the 
reconciliation  she  longed  for.  To  do  this  he  was  well 

181 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

aware  that  he  must  be  circumspect  and  submissive  to 
a  degree  far  beyond  what  was  usually  manifest  in  his 
deportment,  and  that  he  must  under  no  conditions 
declare  himself  with  regard  to  his  own  private  views 
on  the  subject  of  the  Civil  War. 

As  Roger  went  quickly  up  the  flight  of  steps  leading 
into  the  picturesque,  white-pillared  mansion,  an  old 
negro  who  was  busy  in  the  hall  came  forward  and  stood 
bowing,  with  his  feather  duster  in  his  hand. 

"He  feelin'  mighty  poo'ly,  but  I  'spec'  he'll  see 
you,"  he  remarked  in  reply  to  Roger's  inquiry.  "I 
done  tole  him  you  come  day  befo'  yistiddy,  an'  he  sot 
right  still  a  long  time  an'  den  he  say,  '  Ef  he  comes 
ag'in,'  dem  was  he  ve'y  words,  an'  no  mistake,  he  say, 
'  Ef  he  comes  ag'in  you  may  ax  him  in,  Lish,'  an'  he 
made  me  go  and  git  dat  cyard  o'  yourn,  an'  he  got  it 
now  a-stickin'  in  de  side  o'  his  shavin'  stan'." 

The  old  darky  was  plainly  agitated.  Being  one 
of  the  ancient  retainers  of  the  house,  there  were  few 
of  its  secrets  that  he  was  not  acquainted  with,  and  he 
knew  that  the  occasion  was  momentous.  He  gave 
Roger  a  sly  encouraging  wink  as  he  ushered  him  into 
the  hall. 

"  I  done  fixed  him  he  mint  julep,"  he  said,  signifi- 
cantly. 

The  hall  was  long  and  wide,  and  it  was  interesting 
with  dim  old  family  portraits  and  relics  of  pioneer, 

182 


COLONEL    THEOPHILUS    HART 

and  Revolutionary,  and  Colonial  days.  A  hat-rack 
composed  of  a  stand  on  which  rested  an  elk's  head  of 
carved  wood  surmounted  by  a  superb  pair  of  antlers 
was  near  the  entrance,  and  as  Roger  paused  an  instant 
before  it  there  flashed  into  his  mind  the  memory  of  a 
day  two-and-twenty  years  before  when  his  mother  had 
brought  him  for  the  first  time  to  see  his  grandfather, 
on  one  of  the  only  two  visits  she  had  ever  dared  to 
pay  him  since  her  marriage.  He  could  never  after- 
wards recall  which  bore  the  more  important  place  in 
his  recollection,  the  elk  or  his  grandfather.  Each  had 
seemed  equally  formidable;  and  though  by  no  means 
a  timid  child,  the  stormy  scene  he  had  then  been  a 
witness  to  seemed  to  justify  the  feeling  that  had  been 
awakened  and  the  mental  association  which  long  had 
lingered  with  him. 

On  the  right  of  the  hall  were  the  long  drawing- 
rooms  of  his  mother's  girlhood,  furnished  in  the  fashion 
of  the  sixties,  with  beflowered  velvet  carpets,  carved 
rosewood  and  satin  damask,  and  white  marble  mantel- 
pieces. As  he  looked  within,  a  full-length  portrait 
of  the  slender  girl  of  those  days,  dressed  in  the  flowing 
garments  of  the  period  and  standing  beside  a  rose- 
covered  trellis,  looked  forth  at  him  from  the  shadows 
with  eyes  of  shy  inquiry,  so  like  and  yet  so  unlike 
his  mother's. 

After  a  while  came  the  impatient  click  of  a  cane  in 
183 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

the  hall  and  the  sound  of  feeble  footsteps.  Roger  rose, 
unconsciously  straightening  himself  to  his  full  height 
and  standing  with  head  thrown  back. 

Was  he  coming  in  peace  or  with  the  sword  ?  he  asked 
himself  half  humorously,  as  he  waited. 

There  were  a  few  words  outside  spoken  in  a  deep 
bass  voice  as  to  an  attendant,  and  an  instant  afterward 
the  door  was  flung  wide  and  a  tall  old  gentleman  of  a 
somewhat  ruddy  countenance,  with  white  hair  and 
moustache,  and  an  air  of  great  dignity,  stood  leaning 
upon  his  carved  ivory-headed  cane  in  the  doorway. 
He  was  very  handsomely  and  carefully  dressed,  and 
his  long  frock-coat  was  buttoned  about  his  straight 
military  form  as  smoothly  as  if  he  were  a  figure  in 
wax  designed  to  display  the  skill  of  a  tailor.  He  stood 
perfectly  still  for  a  moment,  surveying  his  grandson 
under  his  shaggy  brows  with  an  expression  of  very 
keen  and  earnest  inquiry. 

The  look  in  his  cold  gray  eyes  softened  a  little  as  he 
came  forward.  He  moved  slowly,  unsteadily,  as  if 
every  step  were  costing  him  a  painful  effort,  and 
Roger,  realizing  for  the  first  time  what  a  very  old  man 
his  grandfather  was,  sprang  forward  and  wheeled  the 
armchair  into  position,  touched  in  spite  of  himself. 

"It  is  very  kind  of  you  to  see  me,"  he  said,  with 
simple  sincerity  as  he  grasped  the  hand  out-stretched 
to  him. 

184 


COLONEL    THEOPHILUS    HART 

Colonel  Theophilus  Hart  sat  down,  letting  himself 
with  difficulty  sink  into  the  same  large  leathern  chair 
in  the  chimney  corner  in  which  he  had  sat  on  that 
memorable  day  when  Roger,  a  child  of  six,  saw  him 
for  the  first  time. 

There  was  a  moment's  awkward  silence  in  which 
each  seemed  measuring  the  other's  strength,  and 
again  the  proud  face  of  the  elder  underwent  a  curious 
change.  His  manner,  though  distant,  was  extremely 
courteous,  and,  though  watchful,  it  was  most  surpris- 
ingly respectful. 

"I  was  told  of  your  former  visit,"  he  said,  at  length, 
with  his  eyes  still  on  the  young  man's  face. 

"It  was  not  my  first  effort  to  see  you,"  replied 
Roger,  very  quietly,  "  I  have  been  here  twice  recently." 

"Twice?" 

Colonel  Hart  waited  inquiringly,  his  haughty  spirit, 
however,  disdaining  to  manifest  greater  interest  in  the 
announcement  than  if  it  had  been  made  to  him  by  the 
veriest  stranger. 

"  I  was  here  one  morning  in  July,"  remarked  Roger, 
in  the  same  deferential  but  direct  voice  with  which  he 
had  first  spoken.  The  tone  was  manly,  entirely  inno- 
cent of  the  bumptiousness  of  youth  —  a  trait  that  the 
colonel  particularly  abhorred  —  and  it  was  not  too 
conciliatory. 

Colonel  Hart  reflected  a  moment.  "Ah,  that  was 
185 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

during    my    absence    in    the    East,"    he    replied,    at 
length. 

"Was  it  an  enjoyable  trip  that  you  had?"  asked 
Roger,  a  little  stiffly,  beginning  to  find  conversation  with 
his  grandfather  anything  but  easy,  and  wishing  that  he 
were  safely  through  with  the  hard  mission  which  he 
had  come  upon. 

"Enjoyable?"  The  sternness  in  the  strong  face 
gave  way  to  sadness,  and  an  unspeakable  loneliness 
brooded  in  the  downcast  eyes.  But  presently,  with  a 
gesture  that  seemed  to  hurl  defiance  at  age  and  even 
death  itself,  the  drooping  head  was  raised.  "Enjoy- 
able?" he  repeated.  "There  is  not  much  that  is  still 
enjoyable  to  the  man  who  has  more  than  lived  out  the 
allotted  span;  and  like  old  Barzillai  I  may  well  ask, 
'Can  I  hear  any  more  the  voice  of  singing  men  and 
singing  women  ? '  But  I  am  no  longer  seeking  enjoy- 
ment of  life.  I  went  East  to  consult  a  physician;  and 
it  was  a  fool's  errand  to  a  fool." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  that  you  were  not  benefited,"  said 
Roger,  kindly. 

The  colonel's  eyes  flashed.  "Benefited,  sir?"  I 
did  not  expect  to  be  benefited;  I  went  merely  to 
gratify  a  whim  of  my  old  friend  Walter  Beverley,  not 
because  I  have  an  atom  of  respect  for  doctors  and  their 
physic  —  a  damn  set  of  humbugs  in  my  opinion,  the 
last  one  of  them  —  except  Beverley  himself." 

186 


COLONEL   THEOPHILUS   HART 

"My  mother  has  the  utmost  confidence  in  Dr. 
Beverley,"  said  Roger,  plunging  with  a  little  break  in 
his  voice  into  the  subject  which  he  had  only  been 
awaiting  the  opportunity  to  touch  upon.  "  I  am  sorry 
to  say  that  she  has  had  much  need  of  his  services 
recently.  Her  health  has  failed  rapidly." 

"Ah!" 

There  was  mingled  distress  and  resentment  in  the 
smothered  ejaculation  that  broke  from  the  aged 
lips. 

There  was  a  courage  in  the  way  Roger  threw  back 
his  head  and  looked  his  grandfather  in  the  face  that 
was  oddly  suggestive  of  the  old  man's  undaunted  spirit. 
It  was  the  same  blood,  hot,  impulsive,  daring,  that  had 
refused  pardon  to  his  mother,  that  now  in  her  child 
rose  majestic,  sternly  demanding  for  her  what  was  her 
due.  He  realized  he  was  about  to  do  it  all  in  a  totally 
different  way  from  the  way  he  had  intended,  but  an 
irresistible  wave  of  feeling  drove  him  on.  He  went 
straight  to  the  point. 

"  Perhaps  I  should  say,  in  explanation  of  my  presence 
here,  if  any  explanation  is  needed,"  he  said,  "that  I 
have  come  to  you  in  my  mother's  behalf.  She  is  ill  — 
seriously  —  and  she  asks  a  reconciliation." 

The  colonel's  face  was  tremulous  with  excitement 
and  two  bright  red  spots  burned  in  his  cheeks.  His 
eyes  shifted  their  gaze  a  little,  but  they  held  an  unwilling 

187 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

admiration.     A  low  ground-swell  of  anger  shook  his 
voice. 

"Your  mother  was  the  favorite  of  all  my  children. 
One  after  another  the  others  died  and  left  me  until  I 
had  only  her,  and  she  —  she  defied  me ! " 

"  Was  it  defiance  to  marry  the  man  she  loved  instead 
of  one  of  your  choosing  ?  " 

"  It  was  defiance,  sir,  to  marry  as  she  did." 

"I  deny  that  it  was  defiance,  or  anything  else  but 
the  noble,  womanly  act  it  was." 

The  colonel  ground  his  teeth  fiercely.  "To  marry 
the  son  of  the  man  I  hated  with  my  whole  soul  —  God, 
that  she  should  ask  me  to  forgive  her!"  he  muttered 
under  his  breath. 

"My  father  made  her  supremely  happy.  What 
right  had  you,  how  dared  you  attempt  to  make  her  the 
victim  of  your  unjustifiable  hate  ?  " 

The  young  voice  was  stern  and  unrelenting  now,  and 
like  the  embodiment  of  an  accusing  conscience  Roger 
sat  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  his  grandfather's  quivering 
face. 

Presently  the  old  man  sank  back  into  his  chair. 

"Ha!  she  has  taught  you  to  despise  me,  I  see,"  he 
said,  bitterly. 

"She  never  taught  me  an  unworthy  thing  in  all  my 
life,"  replied  Roger,  with  loyal,  boyish  indignation. 
"She—" 

188 


COLONEL   THEOPHILUS    HART 

But  all  at  once  he  broke  off  abruptly.  Something  in 
his  grandfather's  face  had  both  startled  and  silenced 
him.  Colonel  Hart  was  sitting  motionless.  His  head 
was  bowed,  and  the  expression  of  the  distorted  features 
was  one  to  check  the  impetuous  outburst  that  was 
rising  to  the  young  man's  lips,  and  change  his  anger  to 
pity.  Never  in  all  his  life  had  he  looked  upon  a  more 
despairing  countenance.  It  was  a  face  from  which  the 
last  gleam  of  interest  in  life  had  fled;  and  as  he  gazed, 
gradually  it  was  borne  in  upon  Roger  that  he  himself 
was  the  cause  of  the  sudden  change  that  had  so  trans- 
formed it,  and  that  disappointment,  disappointment  in 
him,  was  piercing  the  aged  heart  with  anguish.  For 
he  had  caught  the  smothered  words,  uttered  as  if  alone, 
which  his  grandfather  had  spoken  as  he  sat  clutching 
the  arms  of  his  chair,  "  Fool  —  fool  —  that  I  was  — 
to  hope  —  " 

Roger  crossed  the  room  quickly.  He  took  a  chair 
and  drew  it  up  to  his  grandfather's  side,  and  with  one 
of  the  shy,  swift  impulses  that  made  him  the  lovable 
being  that  he  was,  he  reached  forth  and  grasped 
warmly  the  long  bony  fingers  of  the  hand  next  to  him. 

"I  wish  I  could  make  you  see  just  how  it  all  is," 
he  said,  very  simply  and  pleadingly.  "My  mother 
never  spoke  a  disrespectful  word  of  you  to  me  at  any 
time;  even  in  her  saddest,  loneliest  moments,  when  I 
was  too  young  to  be  much  comfort  to  her,  and  when 

189 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

there  was  no  one  else  to  turn  to,  she  never  had  any 
blame  for  anything  you  had  done.  Both  she  and  my 
father  seemed  to  be  able  to  understand  and  to  pardon." 

"  I  never  had  aught  against  your  father  save  that  he 
was  his  father's  son." 

The  words  were  spoken  dully,  as  if  the  time  for 
argument  were  long,  long  past. 

"But  his  father  had  been  your  most  devoted  friend," 
put  in  Roger,  tentatively. 

"He  ceased  to  be  my  friend  when  he  became  an 
enemy  to  the  South." 

All  at  once  the  fire  that  had  died  out  of  the  proud 
face  leaped  back  into  it,  and  once  more  the  gray  eyes 
flashed  defiant. 

"But  for  the  action  of  the  Conservative  Union  men," 
he  said  in  low,  husky  tones  that  echoed  like  the  whisper 
of  a  dying  gladiator  through  the  room,  "but  for  such 
men  as  Roger  Boiling,  this  state  would  have  gone 
overwhelmingly  into  the  Confederacy.  The  governor 
was  wholly  in  sympathy  with  the  Southern  cause. 
After  the  firing  on  Fort  Sumter,  and  when  the  presi- 
dent made  proclamation  for  troops,  calling  on  Ken- 
tucky for  four  regiments  for  governmental  service, 
what  was  the  response  that  the  governor  of  Kentucky 
telegraphed  in  reply?  He  said:  'In  answer,  I  say, 
emphatically,  Kentucky  will  furnish  no  troops  for  the 
wicked  purpose  of  subduing  her  sister  Southern 

190 


COLONEL   THEOPHILUS    HART 

states.'  That  was  the  spirit,  sir,  that  animated  some 
of  us,  and  but  for  the  efforts  of  those,  with  their  chimera 
of  mediatorial  neutrality,  who  opposed  Secession,  we 
who  fought  and  bled  for  the  cause  we  believed  in 
would  not  have  had  to  steal  forth  like  culprits  to  join 
the  Southern  army.  Mediatorial  neutrality!"  he  re- 
peated, scornfully.  "And  what  was  to  be  gained  by 
mediatorial  neutrality  —  " 

"Much!" 

The  word  shot  from  Roger's  lips  like  a  stone  from 
a  catapult.  He  had  grown  suddenly  pale,  and  as  he 
listened  to  his  grandfather's  denunciation  of  the  Con- 
servative Union  men,  the  men  whom  of  all  others  in 
his  state's  history  he  most  revered,  words  sprang 
unbidden  to  his  lips,  and  he  found  himself  rushing  to 
their  defense,  regardless  of  consequences. 

"Much,  everything,  was  gained  by  it,"  he  said, 
firmly,  but  deferentially,  "from  their  point  of  view. 
Mediatorial  neutrality  meant  delay,  and  delay  meant 
a  decision,  for  the  Union.  Many  of  the  Conserva- 
tive Union  men  like  my  grandfather,  were  large 
slave-owners.  Their  tastes,  their  ties,  their  sympa- 
thies were  Southern  through  and  through.  I  cannot 
see  but  that  they  were  guided  by  the  loftiest  prin- 
ciples that  ever  swayed  a  body  of  men,  whether  one 
agree  or  disagree  with  them.  They  had  not  forgotten 
those  words  which  the  Legislature  of  1850  ordered 

191 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

to  be  engraved  upon  the  block  of  Kentucky  marble 
that  was  to  be  placed  in  the  monument  of  General 
Washington  at  the  nation's  capital : '  Under  the  auspices 
of  heaven  and  the  precepts  of  Washington,  Kentucky 
will  be  the  last  to  give  up  the  Union.' " 

He  spoke  quietly,  but  with  feeling,  for,  as  the  grand- 
son of  one  who  had  suffered  much  from  principle,  the 
subject  had  always  stirred  him  from  his  childhood. 

Colonel  Hart  darted  a  swift  glance  from  under  his 
shaggy  brows. 

"Let  us  understand  each  other,"  he  said,  coldly. 
"You  come  here  seeking  a  reconciliation  of  me,  and 
yet  you  dare  to  extol  to  my  face  the  very  men  who 
aided  in  bringing  ruin  and  desolation  upon  the  South." 

Roger  was  silent.  The  tactlessness  of  praise  which 
could  only  enrage  was  something  that  he  had  most 
unwisely  been  guilty  of.  Nothing  had  been  further 
from  his  thoughts  than  that  he  should  have  allowed 
himself  to  be  driven  into  a  discussion  of  the  merits  of 
the  men  he  had  just  extolled.  The  old  threadbare 
themes  relating  to  the  war  between  the  states,  that  had 
so  long  been  supplanted  by  other  and  more  living 
issues,  had  power  to  move  him,  it  is  true,  as  did  every- 
thing that  concerned  the  past  of  his  own  people,  but 
only  as  a  thing  infinitely  apart  from  his  own  life; 
while  to  his  grandfather,  he  realized  all  at  once  with  a 
sympathy  born  of  contact,  that  the  period  they  had 

192 


COLONEL    THEOPHILUS    HART 

so  unfortunately  touched  upon  was  but  as  yesterday. 
The  men  of  that  day  of  storm  and  stress,  whose  pulses 
had  fired  and  whose  cheeks  had  paled  with  the  awful 
passions  of  warfare,  were  the  only  ones  that  had  reality 
to  him ;  they  that  had  come  afterward  were  but  shadows, 
the  poor  weak  counterparts  of  those  who  had  so  mag- 
nificently preceded  them.  Never  could  the  breach 
that  had  then  been  made  between  North  and  South 
be  healed.  The  tramp  of  a  great  nation  marching 
upward  and  onward  through  victory  and  through 
defeat,  a  glad,  united  people,  glorious  in  harmony 
and  in  fraternal  feeling,  fell  upon  ears  cold  and  in- 
sensible. His  proud  spirit  could  break  but  it  could 
not  bend.  He  could  never  be  reconstructed. 

Sorely  troubled  at  his  mistake,  Roger  was  seeking 
about  in  his  mind  for  something  soothing  and  kindly 
that  he  might  say,  when  the  old  gentleman  turned 
fiercely. 

"  Let  us  understand  each  other,"  he  repeated,  a  light 
leaping  from  his  eyes  like  the  flash  from  steel.  "You 
are  my  grandson,  and  you  are  the  grandson  of  — 
Roger  Boiling."  He  hesitated  an  instant  and  then 
pronounced  the  name  of  the  man  he  so  deeply  hated 
and  whom  he  had  once  so  deeply  loved  in  loud,  distinct 
tones.  "  Make  your  choice  between  us,"  he  thundered, 
"now  and  forever,  for,  by  the  Almighty,  I  will  have 
no  shilly-shallying  here!"  It  was  the  old  pride  of 

193 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

leadership  —  a  prominent  trait  with  the  Kentuckian 
of  a  bygone  era  —  which  was  again  asserting  itself, 
impatient  of  opposition. 

Roger  met  the  stern  gaze  unflinching.  The  stillness 
in  the  room  was  almost  oppressive,  and  one  might  have 
walked  from  the  front  doorway  to  the  street  before  he 
answered. 

"You  ask  a  wholly  impossible  thing,"  he  said. 
"One  of  my  grandfathers  I  never  saw.  I  am  seeing 
the  other  now  practically  for  the  first  time.  I  should 
like  to  honor  both  equally  in  my  thoughts.  It  is  not  a 
question  of  choice  between  either." 

Though  the  tone  was  gentle  it  was  unswerving,  and 
once  more  Colonel  Hart  forced  the  issue. 

"  It  is  a  question  of  principle,  sir,  and  I  demand  an 
answer.  Either  Roger  Bollmg  was  right  and  I  was 
wrong,  or  I  was  right  and  he  was  wrong.  You  seem 
to  have  made  some  study  of  the  history  of  your  state, 
and  therefore  you  must  know,  had  you  lived  in  the 
period  I  refer  to,  whether  your  place  would  have  been 
with  him  or  with  me." 

But  for  the  piteous  signs  of  overwrought  feeling  in 
the  flushed  countenance  the  inquiry  would  have  been 
almost  a  ludicrous  one. 

"But  I  did  not  live  in  that  period,"  began  Roger, 
evasively,  thinking  of  his  mother  and  remorseful  of  his 
blunder.  "  Every  age  has  its  own  riddles,  and  all  that 

194 


any  man  has  a  right  to  ask  of  the  past  is  that  it  teach 
him  to  answer  his  soberly,  and  with  an  enlightened 
conscience." 

"  But  how  can  it  teach  him  that,"  roared  the  colonel, 
"unless  he  decide,  had  he  been  allowed  to  participate 
in  its  conflicts,  where  his  place  would  have  been? 
Either  you  would  have  been  with  Roger  Boiling,  or  you 
would  have  been  with  me.  If  you  have  not  already 
chosen  between  us,  I  command  you  to  make  your 
choice  now." 

It  was  a  moment  of  crisis,  and  Roger  knew  that 
there  was  no  escape.  He  stood  up,  and  with  the 
feverish  light  still  burning  in  his  eyes  the  old  man  rose 
also. 

There  was  a  brief  waiting,  and  then  the  face  of 
the  young  man  paled  a  little  and  his  voice  broke  in 
pity. 

"I  am  sorry  that  you  force  my  answer,"  he  said. 
"  No  man  can  tell  what  he  would  have  done  in  a  situa- 
tion that  never  was  presented  to  him;  but  as  I  see  it  all 
to-day,  I  can  only  say  that  I  think  my  place  would  have 
been  —  beside  the  man  you  hate." 

The  colonel  wheeled  suddenly,  but  a  low,  smothered 
groan  broke  from  him  as  he  crossed  the  room  and 
touched  the  electric  bell;  and  again  he  let  fall  the 
words,  "  Fool  —  fool ! "  muttered  between  clenched 
teeth.  ^ 

195 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

"  Show  this  young  gentlemean  to  the  door,"  he  gave 
order  to  the  old  negro,  who  appeared  with  a  most 
suspicious  alacrity  the  instant  the  bell  was  touched. 
"  And  see  to  it,"  he  added  without  another  glance  in  the 
direction  of  his  grandson,  "  that  you  do  not  admit  him 
here  again." 


196 


CHAPTER  XII 

IN  THE   SHADOW 

ROGER  went  down  the  steps  of  his  grandfather's 
house  with  a  heavy  heart.  The  instantaneous  anger 
at  the  indignity  which  had  been  offered  him  had  died 
out  of  his  face  before  he  had  reached  the  doorway,  and 
only  a  deep  sense  of  pity  and  regret  remained.  But 
for  the  surety  of  rebuff  he  would  have  gone  back  even 
then  to  the  lonely,  bitter  old  man  and  sought  to  soothe 
and  comfort.  He  blamed  himself  only  for  the  failure 
of  his  visit. 

He  was  beginning  to  realize  as  he  had  never  done 
before  in  his  life  the  necessity  of  self-restraint,  and  he 
was  learning  it  through  the  sad  lesson  of  defeat.  It 
was  only  after  many  downfalls  that  the  fabled  dwarf 
became  a  giant;  and  it  was  not  until  long  afterward, 
when  sorrow,  and  loss,  and  humiliation  had  done 
their  work  with  him,  that  Roger  Boiling  knew  that 
there  had  lurked  a  triumph  for  him  in  his  every  over- 
throw. 

For  with  his  grandfather,  as  with  Marian  Day, 
197 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

principle,  as  he  understood  it,  had  not  swerved  — 
although  it  was  as  yet  more  a  thing  of  instinct  with 
him  than  of  reason;  and  when  driven  to  the  test  he 
had  had  the  manliness  to  abide  by  all  that  his  own 
rashness  had  brought  upon  him.  He  would  make  no 
weak  whine  for  himself. 

But  his  heart  ached  at  thought  of  his  mother's  dis- 
appointment. He  dreaded  to  tell  her  of  the  outcome 
of  his  visit,  not  because  he  feared  she  would  chide,  but 
because  he  knew  that  she  would  be  so  much  more 
patient  with  him  than  he  deserved. 

He  went  on  up  the  street  for  several  squares  and 
then  turned  to  the  right,  walking  briskly  and  looking 
straight  ahead  of  him,  all  unmindful  of  the  beauty  of 
the  soft  September  day.  Soon  he  was  out  in  the 
country. 

He  had  gone  a  mile  or  more  and  his  brow  had 
cleared  a  little  when  he  turned  toward  the  town. 
But  he  was  in  no  mood  for  companionship  even  yet. 
Presently  he  came  to  where  there  was  a  bend  in  the 
road,  and  as  he  passed  an  old  gateway  some  one 
sitting  on  a  moss-covered  stone  in  its  shadow  looked 
up  and  watched  him  curiously. 

He  passed  on  ignorant  of  observation.  His  hands 
were  in  his  pockets,  and  he  was  striving  by  mere 
quickness  of  motion  to  flee  the  thoughts  that  pursued 
him,  his  long  athletic  strides  making  rapid  headway. 

198 


IN   THE   SHADOW 

But  he  had  gone  less  than  a  hundred  yards  when  he 
was  conscious  that  something  more  tangible  than  his 
own  unpleasant  reflection  was  following  hard  upon 
him.  He  heard  a  short  breathing,  and  as  he  turned  a 
low  laughter  broke  upon  his  ears. 

Ah,  that  voice!  The  peculiar  timbre  of  it  that  had 
both  attracted  and  repelled  him  that  summer  day  at 
the  railway  station,  when  he  had  heard  it  for  the  first 
time,  fell  with  a  like  effect  upon  his  ears  as  he  waited, 
dully  gazing  in  the  face  of  the  woman  he  had  asked 
to  be  his  wife. 

She  was  still  panting  from  her  run,  and  her  eyes 
were  sparkling. 

"It  is  a  most  unmaidenly  proceeding,"  she  ad- 
mitted, with  a  toss  of  her  head,  "but  I  have  just 
made  the  humiliating  discovery  that  I  am  not  a  mag- 
net." 

He  did  not  take  a  step  toward  her,  but  a  flush  swept 
into  his  face  and  then  mounted  slowly  to  the  temples. 
The  words  carried  a  reproach  that  stung. 

"I  willed  with  all  my  might  that  you  should  see  me," 
she  continued,  "  and  —  there  was  every  reason  why  you 
should;  but  I  might  as  well  have  expected  a  response 
from  the  gatepost." 

"It  was  immensely  stupid  of  me,"  he  said,  at  last, 
with  a  heroic  effort  to  look  regretful.  But  his  skill 
was  too  boyish  to  match  with  her  fencing.  She  gave 

199 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

him  an  entirely  amiable  little  sidelong  glance  from 
under  her  large,  black-plumed  hat,  and  proposed  that 
they  should  move  on.  And  as  she  bent  to  gather 
up  the  skirt  of  her  white  lawn  gown,  he  saw  that  she 
was  laughing  not  with  him  but  at  him. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  not  inclined  to  make  the  most 
of  your  opportunities,"  she  observed,  pointedly,  and 
there  had  come  something  mocking  into  her  smile. 
"For  instance,  what  a  beautiful  speech  you  might 
have  made  me  then!" 

"But  you  know  I  have  had  so  little  practice  in 
making  beautiful  speeches,"  he  answered,  helplessly. 
Then  he  added  quickly,  turning  suddenly  and  facing 
her  with  an  odd  appeal,  "You  must  bear  with  me; 
perhaps  in  time  I  shall  not  be  such  a  clumsy  stick  of 
a  lover  as  I  am  to-day." 

Ah,  then  he  acknowledged  everything!  Her  bosom 
heaved. 

It  was  his  first  reference  to  the  fact  that  there  was 
anything  between  them,  and  a  swift  gleam  shot  from 
under  Marian  Day's  half-closed  lashes. 

"What  might  I  have  said?"  he  asked,  awkwardly. 

"There  are  so  many  things,  each  prettier  than  the 
other.  We  might  go  back  and  have  the  same  scene 
over  again ;  and  then,  after  you  had  passed  me  by  with 
the  lordly  air,  and  I  in  humble  fashion  had  come  run- 
ning, you  might  feel  inspired  to  say  the  thing  you  should 

200 


IN   THE   SHADOW 

have  said  in  explanation  of  not  seeing  me.     Shall  we 
try  it?" 

But  he  did  not  seem  eager  to  adopt  the  suggestion, 
and  presently  he  asked, 

"How  does  it  happen  you  are  not  at  church?" 

"  I  might  ask  that  of  you.  As  for  me,  I  never  go  to 
church." 

He  turned,  surprised.  "But  I  saw  you  in  church 
last  Sunday  morning,  and  the  Sunday  morning  before 
that  —  in  fact  every  Sunday  since  you  have  been 
here." 

"So  you  did,  but  it  was  the  force  of  adverse  cir- 
cumstances. I  hate  to  go  to  church,  and  I  never  go 
unless  there  is  something  — "  she  caught  herself  up 
with  a  start,  for  she  was  about  to  say,  "unless  there 
is  something  to  be  gained  by  it "  (the  "  something " 
in  this  particular  case  having  been  Roger  himself), 
and  supplemented  quickly,  "something  to  compel 
me  to  do  it,  as  there  has  been  since  I  came  here,  in  the 
shape  of  a  determined  little  hostess  who  evidently 
thinks  my  sins  so  black  as  to  require  special  punish- 
ment in  the  way  of  churchgoing." 

"Then  how  did  it  happen  that  she  let  you  off  to- 
day? Have  your  sins  grown  whiter?" 

She  shook  her  head.  "I  ran  off.  She  hasn't  the 
remotest  idea  where  I  am.  I  have  been  out,  oh,  the 
longest  time." 

201 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

She  didn't  explain  that  she  had  been  standing  at 
her  bedroom  window  when  Roger  went  down  the 
path  toward  his  own  gate,  and  that  from  that  moment 
to  the  present  he  had  not  been  once  completely  out  of 
the  line  of  her  vision  save  for  the  time  he  had  spent 
in  his  grandfather's  house.  That  the  visit  had  been 
a  painful  one  she  knew  as  well  as  he,  for  she  had  been 
only  a  few  yards  from  him  when  he  swung  out  of  the 
yard,  and  started  forth  with  an  harassed,  preoccupied 
look  on  his  face,  without  so  much  as  a  glance  around. 
But  even  had  he  seen  her  then  she  would  not  have 
dared  to  question  him,  much  as  she  would  have  liked 
to  do  that.  In  spite  of  his  boyishness  there  was  a  dig- 
nity about  him  that  could  keep  her  at  arm's  length  when 
he  wished.  He  was  keeping  her  there  now  and  she 
knew  it.  But  she  was  by  no  means  disturbed.  Her 
appeal  was  no  longer  to  his  passions  but  to  his  honor. 

"  Have  I  completely  horrified  you  ? "  she  asked, 
watching  him  a  little  narrowly. 

He  was  silent.  He  could  not  tell  her  the  bald  truth 
that  with  him  irreligion  was  a  fatal  drawback  to  a 
woman's  attractiveness,  even  though  it  were  regarded 
merely  in  the  light  of  a  blemish.  But  beyond  this, 
the  reverence  which  he  in  his  own  heart  held  for 
sacred  things  made  it  seem  a  matter  of  vital  moment 
that  there  should  be  unity  of  feeling  between  him  and 
the  woman  who  was  to  be  nearest  to  him  on  the  subject 

202 


IN   THE   SHADOW 

which  he  strove  to  make  of  paramount  importance  in 
his  own  life.  He  was  anything  but  sanctimonious, 
and  there  was  that  in  his  reserve  that  made  him  shy 
away  sensitively  from  any  discussion  of  the  intimate 
and  personal,  so  that  it  was  only  to  the  very  close 
observer,  who  was  able  to  look  beyond  his  exuberance, 
and  his  usual  careless,  light-hearted  expression,  that 
the  realization  came  of  the  earnestness  and  devoutness 
that  really  lay  at  the  root  of  his  nature.  Marian  Day's 
shrewd,  penetrating  glances  had  pierced  this  outer 
covering  in  her  first  conversation  with  him.  His 
seriousness  had  been  only  too  apparent  to  her;  and  of 
all  kinds  of  people  the  ones  she  most  disliked  were 
those  who  inclined  toward  the  ethical. 

*'  I  see  that  I  have  shocked  you,"  she  said,  with  a 
lazy  shrug  of  the  shoulders,  "but  I  can't  help  being  a 
pagan.  Didn't  I  tell  you  once  I  was  like  that?  Do 
try  to  remember  that  I  did;  it  soothes  my  conscience 
a  little  to  think  that  one  confession  was  made  to  you  — 
not  that  I  have  any  conscience." 

She  was  studying  him  intently  from  under  her  half- 
closed  eyelids,  and  she  went  on  quickly: 

"Think  of  the  revelations  that  I  may  still  have  in 
reserve  for  you!  Are  you  frightened?" 

Her  breath  came  hurriedly  as  she  put  the  question, 
and  her  face  paled  a  little.  There  was  something 
mocking  again  in  the  smile  that  hovered  about  the 

203 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

parted  lips.  But  before  he  could  answer  she  added 
with  a  shade  of  nervousness  in  her  manner,  "  Do  you 
realize  that  this  is  the  first  moment  we  have  been 
alone  together  since  —  since  our  engagement  ?  " 

He  met  her  eyes.  "  I  do  realize  it,"  he  said,  gravely, 
"and  I  have  been  thinking  of  it  all  the  time.  I  have 
been  wanting  to  tell  you  —  that  is,  to  explain  why  it  is 
the  first  time." 

She  looked  away.  It  was  abominable  that  she  should 
be  thus  forced  to  make  a  reference  where  he  should  have 
taken  the  initiative,  and  she  bit  her  lips  with  vexation. 
But  when  she  turned  to  him  an  instant  afterward  there 
was  only  an  expression  of  wistful  inquiry  on  the  beau- 
tiful face.  She  was  not  too  alluring.  She  was  far  too 
clever  to  make  a  misuse  of  her  power;  and  though  she 
well  knew  that  for  the  moment  passion  had  spent  its 
force  with  him,  and  that  he  was  cold  to  her,  she  was  a 
woman  that  knew  how  to  bide  her  time,  for  she  doubted 
not  that  her  hour  would  yet  come. 

"  I  have  been  greatly  troubled,"  he  began,  presently. 
"  My  mother  is  seriously  ill,  and  I  have  been  constantly 
with  her.  I  went  at  once  —  the  next  day,  you  remem- 
ber, to  see  you,  but  you  were  not  alone,  and  - 

He  caught  himself,  revolting  against  the  tone  of 
apology  he  had  unconsciously  fallen  into,  just  as  if 
she  had  been  finding  fault  with  him  for  his  neglect  of 
her.  The  color  swept  into  his  face. 

204 


IN   THE   SHADOW 

"  Oh,"  he  cried,  impulsively,  "  I  don't  know  how  to 
make  you  understand  what  the  last  three  or  four  days 
have  been  to  me.  It  has  been  a  terrible  shock  to  me 
to  know  of  my  mother's  condition.  I  am  not  able, 
even  yet,  to  face  the  hard  fact.  I  cannot  think  of 
anything  else.  You  and  I  will  have  a  lifetime  in 
which  to  think  of  each  other,  now  — "  his  voice  broke 
and  he  waited  a  moment  before  he  could  go  on  — 
"now,  forgive  me,  but  my  first  thought  must  be  for 
her." 

"I  know,"  she  replied,  softly;  "I  understand." 

They  walked  on  some  distance  in  silence. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said,  at  length,  low  under  his 
breath,  and  as  if  she  had  just  spoken,  "thank 
you." 

They  had  reached  the  town,  and  just  before  they 
turned  into  the  street  on  which  the  Boilings  and 
Caldwells  lived,  she  gave  a  swift  glance  at  him.  She 
had  been  wondering  whether  he  had  seen  the  notice 
in  the  morning  paper,  and  had  concluded  finally  that 
he  had  not.  On  the  whole  she  rather  regretted  it. 
In  the  realization  that  she  would  have  to  deal  with  a 
higher  order  of  gentleman  than  she  had  chanced  thus 
far  to  know  anything  of,  there  was  a  dual  feeling  — 
one  decidedly  uncomfortable,  based  upon  a  funda- 
mental element  of  her  own  character  that  rendered 
her  ill  at  ease  in  the  presence  of  his  refinement,  the 

205 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

other  jubilant  because  of  the  surety  that  his  honor 
gave. 

"  Have  you  —  have  you  told  her  ? "  she  faltered, 
conscious  that  her  knees  were  trembling  under  her  as 
she  put  the  question. 

He  did  not  meet  her  eyes,  but  his  tone  was  firm  and 
distinctly  final. 

"I  have  not  told  her." 

"You  think  it  would  be  unwise?" 

"  I  am  sure  that  it  would  be  unwise." 

A  spasm  of  fear  shot  through  her.  He  had  seen 
the  notice !  Possibly  he  even  suspected  — 

"I  am  so  glad  that  you  haven't  told  her,"  she 
said. 

"  I  had  been  hoping  that  you  would  not.  I  haven't 
even  told  Mrs.  Caldwell.  Let  us  keep  it  as  just  our 
very  own  until  —  until  Mrs.  Boiling  is  well  again." 

But  Roger  had  scarcely  heard  the  words  she  uttered. 
They  had  reached  the  Caldwell  home,  and  as  he  looked 
in  the  direction  of  his  own,  which  was  only  a  short 
distance  beyond,  being  separated  from  it  by  a  narrow 
street  that  ran  between,  his  eye  had  been  caught  by  a 
familiar  vehicle  drawn  up  beside  the  curbing.  The 
carriage  was  Dr.  Beverley's,  and  at  sight  of  it  his 
heart  stood  still. 

She  saw  the  sudden  blanching  of  his  face  and  the 
involuntary  quickening  of  his  footsteps,  but  she  made 

206 


IN    THE   SHADOW 

no  comment.  She  knew  far  better  than  he  his  mother's 
condition,  but  it  seemed  to  her  best  to  appear  ignorant 
of  it. 

At  the  doorway  she  dismissed  him  quickly. 

Roger  ran  rather  than  walked  the  distance  that 
separated  the  two  houses.  The  black  foreboding 
which  all  morning  had  been  upon  him  seemed  to  find 
justification  in  the  doctor's  unexpected  presence.  He 
knew  that,  unless  especially  sent  for,  the  hour  for  the 
usual  visit  was  not  until  much  later  in  the  day.  Some- 
thing unforeseen  must  have  happened  in  his  absence. 
Or  had  there  been  a  subterfuge  in  the  note  she  had  sent 
him  —  the  old,  maternal  solicitude  for  him  that  from 
the  first  had  sought  to  conceal  her  illness  from  him? 
Why  had  he  been  sent  away  on  his  bootless  errand  to 
his  grandfather  on  that  day?  Why  had  he  not  sus- 
pected ?  Why,  if  she  had  grown  worse,  had  he  not  been 
told  that  Dr.  Beverley  was  to  be  summoned  ?  Why  — 

Mrs.  Caldwell  met  him  at  the  door  and  with  one 
look  into  her  face  he  knew  all. 

He  stood  perfectly  still,  speechless,  transfixed,  his 
features  like  granite.  Then,  as  if  suddenly  electrified 
by  the  thought  that  pierced  him,  he  sped  past  her  and 
made  a  dash  for  the  stairway. 

She  was  by  his  side  in  an  instant,  tears  streaming 
down  her  cheeks. 

207 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

*'  Wait  —  wait  —  oh,  Roger,  dear,  just  a  moment 
while  I  tell  you!"  she  said  in  an  excited  whisper,  as 
she  clung  to  him. 

He  paused  with  his  hand  on  the  balustrade.  He 
looked  at  her  strangely. 

"You  have  nothing  to  tell  me,"  he  answered,  dully; 
"I  know." 

"  But  there  may  be  —  there  may  be  a  little  gleam  of 
hope.  Wait  until  you  have  seen  Dr.  Beverley.  He 
has  only  spoken  to  me  once.  It  is  penumonia.  Just 
a  little  while  after  you  went  away  the  servants  became 
frightened  and  came  for  me.  I  telephoned  immediately 
for  Dr.  Beverley  and  to  the  hospital  for  a  nurse.  They 
both  came  at  once,  and  have  been  with  her  ever  since. 
There  is  to  be  a  consultation  of  physicians  at  three." 

There  was  genuine  grief  and  kindness  in  the  little 
woman's  quivering  voice,  but  Roger  could  bear  no  more. 

He  went  quickly  and  softly  up  the  stairs.  Just  as 
he  reached  the  landing  a  door  was  opened  —  his 
mother's  door.  Dr  Beverley  came  out,  his  eyes 
blinking  a  little  behind  their  gold-rimmed  spectacles. 

At  sight  of  the  tall  figure  standing  a  few  feet  away 
from  him,  the  doctor  paused.  There  was  an  intense 
silence  for  an  instant,  and  then,  with  an  infinite  ten- 
derness, Dr.  Beverley  came  forward  and  grasped  the 
young  man's  hand. 

"  God  help  you,  my  boy,"  he  said,  fervently. 
208 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE   BAPTISM   OF  SORROW 

MRS.  BOLLING  lingered  five  days  and  died  on  the 
dawning  of  the  sixth.  She  had  had  few  entirely  lucid 
moments,  and  to  Roger,  who  sat  with  almost  super- 
human endurance  beside  her  day  and  night,  his  eyes 
fixed  hungrily  upon  her  face,  longing  in  his  utter 
hopelessness  that  there  might  be  one  last  word  before 
the  veil  should  fall  between  them,  there  had  only  come 
a  mute  pressure  of  the  hand,  or  a  glance  of  unspeakable 
tenderness  to  tell  him  that  his  mother's  heart  ached 
with  pity  for  the  desolation  she  must  make. 

Roger's  father  had  died  in  Virginia  and  had  been 
buried  there  in  the  old  town  of  Williamsburg,  where, 
beneath  ancient  moss-covered  tombstones  and  dim 
armorial  bearings,  many  of  his  forefathers  slept;  and 
it  had  been  always  his  mother's  wish  that  her  grave 
should  be  beside  her  husband's.  There  was  a  ser- 
vice at  the  church  with  which  she  had  long  been 
connected,  and  hundreds  had  flocked  to  it  to  pay 
their  last  mournful  tribute  to  the  sweet  and  gracious 

209 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

gentlewoman  whose  passing  left  a  gap  that  would  not 
soon  be  filled. 

After  the  service  the  funeral  train  wound  slowly 
through  the  heart  of  the  town  to  the  station.  Dr. 
Beverley  sat  beside  Roger  during  that  slow,  stately 
drive,  as  silent  as  he,  and  with  a  heart  bursting  with 
sympathetic  feeling.  And  then  as  the  long  line  of 
carriages  drew  up  beside  the  railway  platform,  fore- 
seeing the  further  strain  and  forestalling  it,  he  drew 
the  young  man  away  from  the  crowd  of  near  relatives 
and  friends  that,  with  mistaken  kindness,  would  have 
sought  to  gather  round  him,  whisked  him  off  to  a 
shadowy  corner,  and  placed  his  portly  form  in  front 
like  a  bulwark. 

Mrs.  Caldwell  was  in  the  carriage  with  Marian  Day. 
The  little  woman  had  cried  until  her  face  was  red  and 
swollen,  and  she  was  quivering  from  her  head  to  her 
feet  in  an  intensity  of  nervousness. 

MariaDv  turned  and  looked  at  her  calmly. 

"Are  you  cold?"  she  asked.  "Your  teeth  are 
chattering." 

Mrs.  Caldwell  raised  her  head  from  her  handkerchief 
for  an  instant. 

"  Cold  ?  "  she  echoed,  vaguely, "  I  don't  know  whether 
I  am  cold  or  not,  I  am  just  —  so  —  so  unhappy.  Oh, 
poor  Roger!" 

"  I  don't  see  that  you  are  helping  him  any  by  crying 
210 


THE   BAPTISM   OF   SORROW 

like  that,  and  you  will  certainly  make  yourself  ill. 
Here  we  are,  I  believe." 

The  carriage  had  stopped,  and  Mrs.  Caldwell 
pulled  up  the  blind  and  looked  about  her.  "Where 
is  Tim  ?"  she  whispered,  breathlessly —  "if  I  could  see 
Tim  for  a  moment ! " 

"But  you  can't.  He  is  one  of  the  pall-bearers. 
Surely  you  are  not  going  to  get  out?" 

" I  must  see  Tim.     Oh—" 

She  drew  back,  having  caught  her  husband's  eye. 
Tim  Caldwell  appeared  for  a  second  at  the  carriage 
door,  his  big  blonde  face  grave  and  troubled. 

"Oh,  Tim,"  she  sobbed,  "I  want  you  to  go  with 
Roger.  I  don't  care  what  he  says  about  not  wanting 
anybody  with  him.  Think  how  his  mother  would 
have  felt  about  his  taking  that  terrible  journey  alone! 
And  you  know  he  hasn't  got  anybody  to  look  after 
him  now  but  just  you  and  me,  and  — " 

"  Roger  doesn't  want  me,  Ada,  and  we  must  let  him 
have  his  own  way  about  everything,  you  know.  Sit 
back,  little  woman;  it  is  beginning  to  rain."  And  the 
tall  figure  disappeared  in  the  crowd. 

Five  minutes  passed.  Then  there  came  the  sound 
of  the  tramp  of  many  footsteps  hurrying  down  the 
platform,  the  clanging  of  a  bell,  and  then  that  slow, 
heavy  reverberation  of  a  long  train  of  cars  moving  out 
of  a  station. 

211 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

Mrs.  Caldwell  sank  back  with  a  gasp.  She  had 
grown  very  pale. 

"  Oh,  isn't  it  pitiful  —  pitiful ! "  she  whispered, 
opening  her  eyes  very  wide  and  looking  at  Marian  in 
a  kind  of  awe,  like  a  frightened  child. 

But  Marian  was  drawing  on  her  jacket  and  appeared 
absorbed  in  the  process. 

She  leaned  back  and  looked  absently  out  of  the 
window.  She  did  not  speak  for  some  time,  and  when 
she  did  there  was  a  cold  ring  in  her  voice  like  the 
echo  of  metal  that  has  been  loudly  struck. 

"Yes,  it  is  pitiful,"  she  said.  "But  he  will  get 
over  it.  He  is  not  the  first  man  to  lose  his  mother." 

Roger  did  not  return  for  more  than  a  week.  There 
was  an  old  bachelor  brother  of  his  father's  living  at 
Williamsburg,  and  he  remained  with  him,  finding 
the  first  days  of  his  bereavement  more  bearable  in 
surroundings  unassociated  with  his  mother's  presence. 
Then,  under  the  ceaseless  ache  in  his  heart,  he  grew 
restless,  and  there  came  over  him  a  great  longing  to  be 
back  again  in  the  spot  where  every  object  would  be  a 
reminder  of  her,  acute  as  he  knew  his  anguish  would 
be. 

Mrs.  Caldwell  and  Marian  Day  had  just  finished 
luncheon  when  his  telegram  was  brought  in.  It  was 
addressed  to  Mrs.  Caldwell,  and  it  asked  that  she  have 

212 


THE    BAPTISM    OF   SORROW 

his  house  opened  for  him,  mentioning  the  hour  when 
he  should  arrive. 

She  glanced  up  at  the  clock.  "Half  past  two!" 
she  exclaimed,  "and  Roger  is  to  be  here  at  twenty 
minutes  after  five ! " 

Marian's  face  did  not  change  a  muscle,  but  Tim 
Caldwell's  broad,  good-natured  countenance  was  in- 
stantly troubled.  A  moment  before  he  had  been 
laughing  heartily  at  his  own  facetiousness  (compell- 
ing from  Marian,  as  usual,  a  most  reluctant  attention) 
but  as  the  message  was  read  aloud  to  him  his  big  blue 
eyes  filled  suddenly.  To  hide  his  emotion  he  leaned 
forward  and  laboriously  selected  a  peach  from  the 
platter  in  the  center  of  the  table,  leaving  it,  however, 
untasted  when  he  rose. 

"I  shall  have  to  get  James  and  the  other  servants 
together,  and  I  must  hurry  because  there  is  not  very 
much  time,"  said  Mrs.  Caldwell,  breathless,  and  with 
a  little  catch  in  her  voice,  as  she  glanced  again  be- 
seechingly at  the  clock. 

"Will  you  let  me  help  you?"  asked  Marian,  turn- 
ing and  facing  her.  She  had  walked  to  the  window 
and  had  been  looking  out  on  the  soggy  sward  across 
which  a  light  wind  was  blowing  a  flutter  of  dank, 
yellow  leaves. 

"  No  —  oh,  no,"  replied  Mrs.  Caldwell,  quickly, 
"  that  is  —  it  is  good  of  you  to  offer,  my  dear  —  I 

213 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

shan't  need  you.  I  don't  think  —  "  she  hesitated,  and 
then  hurried  on  —  "  that  Roger  would  care  to  have  any 
one  touch  his  mother's  things  except  some  one  who 
loved  her  dearly." 

"Perhaps  not,"  responded  Marian,  very  quietly. 
She  yawned  a  little  and  reached  for  her  book  which 
she  had  dropped  beneath  the  table  when  they  first 
sat  down.  Then  she  left  the  room. 

Tim  Caldwell's  eyes  followed  her.  "Don't  you 
think  you  were  just  a  little  bit  rude  to  her,  dear?" 
he  asked,  anxiously. 

"Rude?"  Mrs.  Caldwell  was  making  a  mental 
summary  of  the  things  she  had  to  do  and  do  speedily, 
silently  marking  them  off  on  her  fingers.  "Tim, 
what  on  earth  do  you  mean?" 

She  looked  up  innocently,  her  pretty  lisp  falling 
as  ever  like  sweetest  music  on  her  husband's  ears. 
He  crossed  the  room  to  her  side  and  put  his  arms 
about  her. 

"Never  mind,"  he  said.  He  stood  stroking  the 
small  brown  head  nestled  like  a  bird's  against  his 
shoulder,  and  presently  he  added,  softly,  "  Poor  Roger ! 
How  I  wish  there  were  some  sweet  little  woman  for 
him  to  come  back  to!  Did  it  ever  occur  to  you,  Ada, 
that  he  has  rather  a  fancy  for  Miss  Day  ?  " 

"  But  she  is  not  a  sweet  little  woman  —  she  is  fully 
five  feet  nine,"  she  replied,  evasively,  but  positively. 

214 


THE   BAPTISM   OF   SORROW 

Her  husband's  eyes  twinkled.  "But  you  know 
every  woman  who  is  charming  is  always  a  sweet  little 
woman  to  me.  I  shouldn't  know  how  to  describe 
them  in  any  other  way.  Force  of  habit,  I  suppose. 
I  may  be  wrong,"  he  added,  meditatively,  "but  I'm 
inclined  to  believe  there  is  something,  I  don't  know 
just  what,  between  those  two." 

"No  — no!" 

The  reply  broke  from  Mrs.  Caldwell's  lips  like  a  cry 
of  alarm,  and  he  met  her  startled  gaze  with  a  look  of 
dumb  surprise.  His  mouth  opened  as  if  to  speak,  but 
he  could  find  no  words  to  convey  his  astonishment  at 
the  protest  her  words  involuntarily  expressed.  His 
under  jaw  fell. 

"  Why,  I  thought  —  I  thought  you  liked  her,"  he 
stammered  at  length. 

"Like  her?  Of  course  I  like  her."  Mrs.  Caldwell's 
tone  was  hurried  and  even  a  trifle  petulant.  "  Every- 
body likes  her  —  she  is  so  clever  and  so  beautiful, 
but  —  " 

"But  what?"  Tim  Caldwell  demanded,  stolidly. 
He  was  going  to  get  at  the  root  of  this  if  it  should  take 
him  until  dark.  Under  all  his  slow  amiability  there 
was  an  obstinacy  that  could  not  be  lightly  put  off. 
"But  what?"  he  repeated,  with  his  eyes  on  his  wife's 
face. 

She  avoided  his  glance.  "  She  and  Roger  would  not 
215 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

be  at  all  suited  to  each  other;  and  then,  you  know 
Mrs.  Boiling  would  not  have  liked  it." 

"Why?" 

"  Oh,  I  am  sure  she  would  not.  She  always  admired 
Sibyl  Fontaine." 

He  stood  leaning  one  arm  on  the  mantel,  tapping 
it  thoughtfully  with  the  forefinger  of  his  big  right 
hand.  What  a  queer  combination  a  woman  was  any- 
way! He  proposed  to  try  the  effect  of  a  bombshell. 

"Ada,  there  is  something  between  them,"  he  said, 
solemnly,  "  and  I  happen  to  know  it." 

She  grew  white  and  tremulous.  "  Oh,  Tim,  do  you 
really  know  anything  ?  "  she  cried,  coming  back  to  him 
and  grasping  his  arm  tightly.  "  Are  you  sure  ?  " 

"Perfectly  sure!"  he  declared,  unblushingly. 

"  Oh,  but  it  would  be  just  —  terrible ! "  she  exclaimed 
under  her  breath.  "  And  I  thought  —  I  thought  she 
didn't  care  an  earthly  thing  about  him." 

"  What  made  you  think  that  ?  "  he  was  stroking  her 
hair  again,  much  to  her  discomfiture,  as  she  had 
arranged  it  with  especial  care,  having  tried  for  the 
first  time  a  new  method  of  coiffure  with  her  most 
unsatisfactory  locks. 

"  What  made  me  think  that  ?  Oh,  so  many  things. 
I  really  don't  believe  he  is  the  kind  of  man  she  likes 
in  the  least,  in  fact  she  almost  told  me  he  was  not. 
Marian  is  always  very  confidential  with  me." 

216 


THE   BAPTISM    OF   SORROW 

*'  Humph ! "  he  remarked,  dryly.  "  I  should  say  that 
she  was  the  kind  of  woman  that  keeps  her  own  counsels, 
myself.  Why  do  you  think  she  doesn't  care  for  him  ? 
I  should  have  picked  out  Roger  as  a  fellow  to  cut  a 
pretty  wide  swath  with  the  feminine  contingent." 

"  Oh,  he  does  —  he  truly  does;  all  the  girls  are  wild 
about  him,  and  Judith  Beverley  is  positively  pathetic." 

"  So  it  is  only  Miss  Day  who  is  disdainful,  you  think  ? 
Poor  Ada,  how  you  have  been  deceived ! "  he  observed, 
with  exaggerated  sympathy. 

"She  doesn't  care  for  him!"  The  little  woman 
stamped  her  foot  angrily. 

"  Give  me  an  instance  to  prove  it,"  he  demanded, 
imperturbably. 

"  Tim,  she  never  shed  a  tear  at  the  funeral." 

All  at  once  she  looked  up  in  his  face  and  caught  the 
humorous  gleam  in  his  mild  blue  eyes.  She  pushed 
him  from  her. 

"You  are  laughing!"  she  exclaimed,  "and  I  don't 
believe  you  know  a  thing." 

"I  know  there  is  something  between  them,"  he 
insisted,  his  mouth  twitching  behind  his  blonde 
moustache. 

"Then  in  Heaven's  name  say  what  it  is,  and  don't 
keep  me  standing  here  all  afternoon." 

"  I  will,"  he  said,  obligingly,  and  with  a  broad  smile. 
He  took  out  his  watch  and  examined  it  critically. 

217 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  tell  you  precisely  what  is  between 
them?"  he  inquired,  presently.  "That  train  is  very 
apt  to  be  late,  but  the  nearest  calculation  I  can  make 
is  that  there  is  at  the  present  moment  between  them 
something  like  three  good  hours  of  car  travel,  and  — 

But  he  was  spared  the  trouble  of  enumerating  the 
number  of  miles,  for  Mrs.  Caldwell  had  made  a  hasty 
exit. 

She  went  at  once  about  Roger's  affairs,  only  delaying 
long  enough  to  despatch  her  servants  upon  numerous 
errands  relating  to  the  immediate  opening  of  his 
darkened  home.  It  would  be  a  long  time,  she  feared, 
before  the  wheels  of  his  menage  should  run  smoothly 
again,  and  she  pitied  him  with  all  her  heart,  her  prac- 
tical mind  disturbed  not  only  for  his  spiritual  loneliness 
but  for  his  bodily  discomfort. 

By  half-past  five  everything  was  in  readiness,  and  a 
cheerful  fire  blazed  in  the  little  drawing-room,  for  the 
afternoon  had  grown  chilly  after  the  rain.  Mrs. 
Caldwell  gave  a  last  look  around  and  then  went  softly 
from  the  house. 

"  I  can't  —  I  just  can't  accustom  myself  to  the  idea 
that  she  is  not  somewhere  near  and  at  any  moment 
may  come  walking  in,"  she  said  to  Marian  Day,  with 
trembling  lips,  a  few  moments  afterwards. 

Marian  put  down  her  novel.  She  was  already 
dressed  for  dinner,  and  she  was  sitting  in  the  library 

218 


THE   BAPTISM   OF   SORROW 

in  a  large  leathern  chair,  her  slippered  feet  daintily 
out-stretched  to  the  glow  of  heaped-up  hickory  logs. 
She  looked  the  personification  of  luxurious  content- 
ment. Her  black  net  gown,  though  old  and  shabby, 
having  been  her  standby  for  years  on  all  impor- 
tant occasions  when  evening  clothes  were  demanded, 
fitted  her  superbly,  and  there  was  about  her  an  air  of 
indolent  grace  that  harmonized  with  her  surroundings. 

"Are  you  very  tired?"  Marian  asked,  presently, 
her  lips  parting  in  the  slow,  intimate  smile  she  was 
wont  to  bestow  upon  her  friend,  whose  guilelessness 
never  suspected  the  hint  of  cynicism  that  lurked  be- 
hind the  flash  of  the  girl's  white  teeth. 

Mrs.  Caldwell  looked  up.  "Tired?  I  don't  know 
—  perhaps  I  am  a  little  tired;  not  that  there  was  any- 
thing really  for  me  to  do.  She  had  trained  her  ser- 
vants beautifully,  and  they  knew  how  to  take  hold  at 
once.  She  really  was  wonderful,  my  dear,  and  do 
you  know,  I  actually  don't  believe  she  ever  saw  the 
inside  of  her  kitchen  in  her  life?  She  was  just  the 
opposite  of  Mrs.  Beverley  and  myself,  who  are  always 
fussing  around  with  a  receipt  book  in  our  hands." 

Suddenly  she  paused,  her  eyes  on  Marian's  bare 
white  throat  and  gleaming  arms.  "Why  the  black 
net?"  she  asked,  abruptly.  "Are  you  going  out?" 

Marian  laughed,  but  looked  away  a  trifle  nervously. 
"Don't  remind  of  me  my  poverty!"  she  exclaimed. 

219 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

"It  was  positively  a  last  resort;  everything  else  is  in 
rags."  Then  she  added,  quickly,  "There  was  a 
telephone  message  for  you  from  Mr.  Caldwell.  He 
thanks  you  for  sending  the  carriage,  and  says  he  will 
go  to  meet  Mr.  Boiling  at  the  proper  time.  The  train 
is  delayed.  There  was  a  wreck  up  the  road." 

"A  wreck!"  Mrs.  Caldwell  started  up.  "Did  he 
say  whether  any  one  was  hurt  or  not?" 

Marian's  face  was  amiably  supercilious.  She 
reached  out  her  hand  and  laid  it  patronizingly  on  her 
friend's  arm.  "Hold  on,"  she  said.  "Don't  let  it- 
self get  agitated.  I  believe  he  did  say  that  two  per- 
sons were  killed,  the  engineer  and  the  brakeman. 
Were  they  special  friends  of  yours?" 

"No,  but  Roger  is  a  very  dear  friend,  indeed,  and 
you  startled  me.  What  a  cool  little  way  you  have! 
I  wonder,"  Mrs.  Caldwell  crossed  the  room  and  stood 
looking  out  the  window  upon  the  gathering  twilight, 
"I  wonder,  if  you  really  cared  for  a  person,  if  you 
could  be  quite  so  collected?  For  instance,  if  Roger 
were  —  were  your  lover,  and  you  heard  that  his  train 
was  wrecked  —  " 

But  Marian  interrupted.  She  rose  and  came  swiftly 
toward  the  window. 

"How  dark  it  has  grown!"  she  cried,  as  if  realizing 
suddenly  that  night  was  about  to  descend. 

Mrs.  Caldwell  tapped  absently  on  the  window-pane. 
220 


THE   BAPTISM    OF   SORROW 

"His  train  was  due  at  twenty  minutes  after  five," 
she  said,  presently,  "  and  I  gave  them  fifteen  minutes, 
which  was  really  more  than  was  necessary,  and  now 
it  is,"  she  glanced  toward  the  clock  — 

"After  six,"  put  in  Marian,  promptly. 

"Horrors!  Is  it  really?"  shrieked  Mrs.  Caldwell. 
"Then  I  must  go  and  dress  immediately.  "I  can't 
but  hope  that  Tim  will  persuade  Roger  to  come  here 
to  dinner  with  us,  although  I  ordered  a  lovely  dinner 
for  him  in  his  own  home.  You  never  can  tell  how 
people  in  sorrow  are  going  to  act.  Now  Tim  —  " 

All  at  once  she  broke  off,  her  eyes  falling  on  a  bowl 
of  flowers  on  the  table. 

"Oh,  I  forgot!"  she  said,  "I  completely  forgot! 
I  meant  to  take  those  flowers." 

Marian  had  gone  back  to  her  chair  before  the  fire. 
She  rose. 

"Let  me  take  them,"  she  suggested,  quietly. 

"Would  you?"  Mrs.  Caldwell  hesitated.  "I  could 
send  one  of  the  servants,  of  course,  but  I  should  not 
be  sure  that  they  were  put  just  where  I  want  them 
—  on  that  little  mahogany  table  of  hers  down-stairs 
that  she  always  sat  by.  Would  you  honestly  not 
mind?" 

"Not  in  the  least." 

"  But  suppose  they  should  come  in  on  you  —  Tim 
and  Roger?  It  would  be  awkward." 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

"There  is  no  danger.  They  will  not  be  here  for 
fully  half  an  hour  yet." 

"  Then  don't  forget,  my  dear,  on  the  little  ta  — " 

"I  understand." 

The  door  closed.  Marian  stood  a  moment  beside 
the  bowl  of  flowers,  tenderly  stroking  the  delicate 
pink  petals  of  the  loose  bunch  of  roses.  There  was 
a  sparkle  in  her  eyes;  her  lips  were  parted  and  she 
was  smiling  softly  to  herself.  All  at  once  she  bent  her 
lips  to  the  flowers.  "Thank  you,"  she  said,  "thank 
you."  She  turned  and  again  went  back  to  her  chair, 
and  sat  gazing  into  the  fire.  It  was  not  until  the  hands 
of  the  clock  pointed  to  a  quarter  of  seven  that  she 
rose,  and  throwing  a  light  scarf  about  her,  gathered 
up  the  bowl  of  flowers  and  left  the  house. 

It  had  grown  quite  dark.  As  she  went  up  the  steps, 
a  voice  within  sounded  as  it  drew  near  the  doorway  — 
a  man's  voice  speaking  kindly,  soothing  words.  She 
moved  quickly  back  into  the  shadow  of  the  porch 
where  the  vines  were  thickest,  and  stood  waiting. 
The  wind  kept  up  a  dismal  whispering  as  it  swept 
past  the  corner  of  the  house,  and  with  one  hand  she 
grasped  the  scarf  about  her  throat  lest  it  be  blown 
away,  while  with  the  other  she  guarded  the  bowl  of 
flowers,  which  she  was  holding  in  the  crook  of  her  arm 
pressed  close  against  her  chest. 

222 


THE   BAPTISM   OF   SORROW 

Presently  the  door  opened,  and  Tim  Caldwell  went 
down  the  steps.  After  the  last  sound  of  his  footsteps 
had  died  away  she  crept  out  from  her  hiding-place, 
and  stood  gazing  in  at  the  window.  Roger  had 
neglected  to  draw  the  blinds,  and  the  warm  room, 
serene  and  comfortable,  for  an  instant  caught  and 
held  her  attention.  Then  her  eyes  rested  upon  the 
central  figure. 

He  had  drawn  an  armchair  —  his  mother's  chair  —* 
up  before  the  fire,  and  he  was  sitting  in  it,  his  face 
buried  in  his  hands,  and  his  whole  being  bowed  as  if 
a  blight  had  fallen  on  it.  Not  a  muscle  stirred.  She 
could  hear  the  crackling  of  the  fire  on  the  hearth;  she 
could  almost  hear  him  breathe.  Several  moments 
passed.  Still  he  sat  motionless.  One  could  readily 
imagine  that  the  young  form,  so  pathetic  in  its  grief 
and  isolation,  was  benumbed,  paralyzed  beneath  its 
weight  of  sorrow. 

She  was  not  easily  appealed  to,  yet  the  spectacle 
touched  her,  and  there  was  an  unwonted  gentleness  on 
her  face  as  she  noiselessly  turned  the  knob,  pushed 
open  the  front  door  and  entered. 

She  walked  softly  across  the  hall,  and  stood  an 
instant  on  the  threshhold  of  the  little  room  which  she 
had  entered  for  the  first  time  two  months  before. 
Still  he  did  not  stir. 

She  had  thrown  off  her  scarf,  and  the  firelight 
223 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

gleamed  delicately  on  her  white  throat  and  smooth, 
round  arms,  bare  below  the  elbow.  She  waited  a 
moment. 

Her  breath  was  coming  quickly  now,  and  her  lips 
parted,  as  they  were  apt  to  do  whenever  she  was  under 
the  stress  of  an  excitement.  Her  face  had  grown  sud- 
denly colorless,  but  it  was  tender  and  beautiful,  like  a 
pearl.  Her  eyes  shone,  as  if  lighted  by  an  almost 
unearthly  flame. 

She  crossed  the  room  swiftly,  stealthily.  She  put 
down  the  bowl  of  flowers,  and  then,  still  watching  him, 
and  with  throbbing  pulses,  she  sank  down  upon  her 
knees  beside  him. 

He  started.  Her  unexpected  presence  had  roused 
him  from  his  lethargy,  but  it  had  also  dazed  and 
astounded  him.  He  could  not  speak.  He  could  not 
even  rise.  So  little  had  she  been  in  his  thoughts  it  was 
as  if  a  stranger  were  kneeling  there  beside  him.  He  sat 
mutely  staring  down  upon  her,  too  vaguely  conscious 
of  the  relation  she  bore  to  him  to  find  words  with 
which  to  speak  to  her. 

The  room  was  red  in  the  glow  of  the  firelight;  and 
there  was  no  sound  save  the  crackling  of  the  logs  on 
the  hearth  and  the  sad  whisperings  of  the  wind  among 
the  vines  that  grew  about  the  porch  and  near  the 
windows  on  the  far  side  of  the  house.  For  a  while  she 
bowed  her  head,  silent,  half  timid  in  her  expression  of 

224 


THE   BAPTISM   OF   SORROW 

humble  sympathy  —  as  if  not  only  her  lovely  form  but 
her  whole  being  were  prostrate  at  his  feet.  If  it  was 
acting  it  was  well  done.  But  suddenly  her  face  was 
uplifted.  She  pressed  nearer  to  him,  and  she  had 
grown  white  as  alabaster.  The  soft  pearly  tints  had 
vanished,  and  there  was  a  wild  questioning  in  her 
eyes.  He  met  her  gaze  uncertainly.  For  an  instant 
his  heart  stood  still.  Then  he  understood.  His 
haggard  face  went  pale. 

He  did  not  speak,  but  gradually  there  came  a  change 
in  him,  just  as  if  the  long  strain  were  being  slowly 
lifted,  and  he  was  sinking  down  upon  the  first  pillow 
that  was  offered  to  him,  too  exhausted  to  inquire  whose 
hand  it  was  that  had  smoothed  it  for  him.  She  had 
chosen  an  opportune  moment.  In  his  desolation  and 
need  of  the  womanly  he  turned  to  her.  With  unutter- 
able weariness  he  bent  down  his  head,  and  she  softly 
smiled. 

All  at  once  he  reached  out  his  arms  to  her  and  drew 
her  to  him. 


225 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  SHADOW   OF  THE  SECRET 

IT  was  one  month  later,  and  near  the  close  of  one 
of  those  cool,  brilliant  October  days  that  to  the  Ken- 
tuckian  is  atonement  complete  and  satisfying  for  a 
climate  that  on  occasions  can  show  a  variableness  that 
only  the  most  fickle  of  womankind  could  equal.  Marian 
Day  had  just  returned  from  a  long  walk,  and  her  face 
glowed  like  a  tea  rose  beneath  her  big  black  hat.  She 
was  in  excellent  health  and  spirits,  and  though  disposed 
still  to  cavil  a  little  with  fate  for  its  withholdings,  on 
the  whole  she  was  resigned,  having  gradually  drifted 
into  that  quiescent,  comfortable  state  of  mind  that  is 
the  consolation  of  the  morally  obtuse  in  the  midst  of 
compromise.  She  had  asked  large  things  of  life, 
according  to  her  vision,  and  the  most  she  could  look 
forward  to  was  freedom  from  the  bald  ugliness  of  her 
previous  existence.  No  brilliancy,  no  excitement,  none 
of  that  tingling  of  the  blood  that  follows  in  the  wake  of 
power  and  as  a  result  of  the  sort  of  daring  coup  she  had 
always  longed  for,  was  to  be  hers.  It  was  to  be  barely 

226 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  SECRET 

an  escape  —  if  really  an  escape  at  all.  That  she  well 
knew.  Yet  she  proposed  to  make  the  most  of  her 
changed  conditions. 

She  had  extended  her  visit  from  week  to  week, 
having  found  the  hospitality  of  the  Caldwells  limitless; 
but  she  had  been  a  good  deal  put  to,  after  the  diphtheria 
pretext  could  no  longer  be  resorted  to,  to  find  plausible 
explanation  to  give  her  friends  why  her  presence  at 
the  country  school  was  not  demanded.  She  had  said 
nothing  to  either  of  them  of  her  engagement. 

But  Roger  had  suddenly  brought  things  to  a  climax. 
She  had  just  left  him,  and  he  had  asked  that  they  be 
married  at  once  —  in  fact  in  a  week  from  that  very 
day.  He  had  also  insisted  that  she  inform  the  Cald- 
wells immediately. 

As  she  ran  up  the  stairs  and  tapped  lightly  on  Mrs. 
Caldwell's  door,  a  sudden  misgiving  that  had  over- 
taken her  many  times  of  late  blanched  her  face. 
What  if,  after  all,  the  little  woman  were  to  be  reckoned 
with?  Could  it  be  possible  that  she  had  miscalcu- 
lated? The  thought  filled  her  with  distinct  alarm. 
She  was  instantly,  fiercely  resentful  even  in  prospect. 

"  Come  in,"  said  a  sleepy  voice  within,  and  Marian 
turned  the  knob  and  entered.  Her  pulses  were  bound- 
ing riotously,  but  her  manner  was  nonchalant. 

Mrs.  Caldwell  was  lying  curled  up  on  a  couch  before 
the  fire,  her  plump  form  enveloped  in  a  pale  blue 

227 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

kimono.  "Isn't  it  ridiculously  cold  for  this  time  of 
the  year  ?  "  she  said,  as  she  motioned  Marian  to  a  chair. 
"But  then  you  know  away  back  there  in  September 
we  had  fires.  Don't  you  remember  ?  —  the  night 
Roger  came  home  —  " 

"I  remember,"  interrupted  Marian,  with  her  eyes 
on  the  hearth.  She  had  loosened  the  cheap  piece  of 
black  fur  she  wore  about  her  throat,  and  with  the 
marvelous  adaptability  she  possessed,  that  made  her  at 
home  at  once  in  any  surroundings,  she  was  leaning 
back  in  her  chair  languidly,  and  as  composedly  as  if 
she  had  been  there  all  the  afternoon.  One  would 
never  have  suspected  that  an  important  communica- 
tion was  quivering  on  her  lips,  or  that  five  minutes 
before  she  had  been  walking  rapidly  in  the  keen  autumn 
air.  The  faint  color  that  the  wind  had  brought  into  her 
cheeks  had  vanished.  She  was  very  white  and  very  still. 

"It  is  cold,"  she  responded,  lightly,  "but  I  like  it, 
don't  you?"  She  was  formulating  in  her  mind  the 
wording  of  her  announcement  and  she  appeared  a 
little  inattentive,  as  she  rested  her  head  against  the 
back  of  her  chair. 

Mrs.  Caldwell  supposed  that  the  warmth  of  the  room 
had  made  her  drowsy.  "Like  it?"  she  exclaimed,  in 
her  airy,  animated  way,  "I  delight  in  it,  of  course, 
after  all  that  melting  weather  we  had.  But  I  am 
surprised  that  you  do." 

228 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  SECRET 

Marian  turned  her  face  slowly.     "  Why  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Because  you  belong  to  the  tropics  —  you  look  like 
that,  I  mean.  And  if  you  really  did  live  in  the  tropics 
and  were  an  animal  instead  of  a  human  being,  do 
you  know  what  sort  of  animal  you  would  be?" 

Marian  shook  her  head. 

"I  suppose  I  oughtn't  to  do  it,"  continued  Mrs. 
Caldwell,  "but  I  am  always  seeing  likenesses  between 
people  and  animals.  Tim  often  reminds  me  of  a  big 
Newfoundland  dog." 

"  No  doubt  he  would  he  highly  flattered  if  he  knew." 

Mrs.  Caldwell  broke  into  one  of  her  spasmodic 
little  screams.  "  Oh,  he  knows,"  she  cried,  "  I  always 
tell  him  everything." 

Marian  looked  up  quickly.  But  she  only  said, 
"What  is  the  particular  bird  or  beast  or  reptile  you 
would  liken  me  to  ?  " 

"You  are  sure  you  won't  be  offended?"  inquired 
Mrs.  Caldwell,  quite  serious. 

"Not  at  all,"  replied  Marian,  imperturbably,  and 
with  a  swift,  flashing  smile. 

"  But  I  once  told  a  man  he  reminded  me  of  a  rhinoce- 
ros," responded  Mrs.  Caldwell  in  an  injured  tone, 
"and  he  never  forgave  me.  The  truth  was  he  was 
just  '  de  ve'y  spit  o'  one,'  as  my  old  nurse  used  to  say." 

" I  shall  be  more  placable.     Tell  me.     What?" 

"A  tigress,  my  dear,  and  your  abode  is  the  jungle." 
229 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

Marian  stirred  slightly  and  laughed,  her  lips  curling 
with  their  faint  hint  of  derision.  There  were  times 
when  Mrs.  Caldwell  impressed  her  as  being  strangely 
crude. 

"Every  woman  who  can  feel  is  a  tigress  at  heart," 
she  observed,  "the  rest  are  only  tame  cats." 

She  had  taken  off  her  hat,  and  she  sat  smoothing 
the  worn  ostrich  tips  about  the  brim  absently  with 
her  fingers.  Presently  she  looked  her  friend  directly 
in  the  eyes. 

"  I  have  something  to  say  to  you,"  she  said,  "  and  I 
have  been  wondering  how  I  would  best  say  it." 

"  Say  it  any  way  you  please,  my  dear,"  replied  Mrs. 
Caldwell,  without  suspicion,  "but  don't  keep  me 
waiting  too  long,  my  curiosity  cannot  stand  much 
strain." 

Marian  hesitated  a  moment.  Her  heart  was  flutter- 
ing wildly  again,  and  she  had  suddenly  paled.  But 
her  voice  was  controlled  and  clear  as  a  bell. 

"Then,  without  tiresome  paraphrase,"  she  said, 
"let  me  tell  you  that  I  am  going  to  be  married  to  Mr. 
Roger  Boiling  next  Wendesday  morning  at  ten  o'clock." 

Mrs.  Caldwell  sprang  to  her  feet.  She  gave  a  faint 
little  gasp,  and  then  stood  perfectly  still,  wildly  clasping 
her  hands  at  her  breast. 

"Won't  you  sit  down?"  inquired  Marian,  coolly, 
and  in  the  sauve  tone  of  a  hostess  addressing  her 

230 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  SECRET 

guest.  She  was  perfectly  at  her  ease,  but  watchful 
and  not  too  bold. 

The  little  woman  obeyed  like  an  automaton.  She 
sank  back  on  the  couch,  her  eyes  still  fixed  imploringly 
on  the  girl's  face,  dumb,  and  utterly  helpless;  and 
Marian,  watching  her  furtively  from  under  her  half- 
closed  eyelids,  was  conscious  of  a  fierce  thrill  of  exulta- 
tion. The  comparison,  if  commonplace,  had  been 
apt;  and  at  the  bare  thought  of  opposition  there  were 
aroused  in  her  emotions  which  made  her  tremble. 
But  she  was  almost  reassured,  though  not  a  word  had 
yet  been  spoken.  A  smile  leaped  across  her  face  and 
was  gone  like  a  flash  of  lightning.  She  stretched  out 
her  hands  to  the  fire. 

"Won't  you  congratulate  me?"  she  said,  "or  are 
you  holding  all  your  felicitations  in  reserve  —  for 
Roger?" 

"Then  it  is  true,  really  true?"  Mrs.  Caldwell's 
voice  was  so  low  that  it  was  barely  audible. 

Marian  leaned  back  and  laughed  softly.  "It  is 
perfectly  true,"  she  replied,  growing  all  at  once  grave 
again.  "  Do  you  actually  mean  to  say  that  you  never 
suspected  it?" 

Mrs.  Caldwell  was  silent.  She  sat  gazing  for  a  long 
time  into  the  fire,  and  twisting  her  rings  nervously. 
Her  piquant  features  were  thoughtful  and  deeply 
troubled.  Even  her  lightness  had  been  suddenly 

231 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

sobered,  and  she  knew  in  no  vague  and  uncertain 
fashion  that  she  had  come  face  to  face  with  something 
that  was  making  a  solemn  demand  upon  her  which 
she  could  not  ignore.  Her  first  impulse  was  to  shift 
the  responsibility.  If  only  she  might  talk  it  over  with 
Tim! 

She  rose  and  crossed  the  room  quickly.  She  stood 
a  moment  at  the  window,  absently  fingering  the  cur- 
tains, and  looking  out  into  the  street.  Lights  were 
already  gleaming  from  the  houses  opposite.  It  was 
growing  late,  and  at  any  moment  she  was  likely  to 
hear  her  husband's  ponderous  step  ascending  the  stairs. 
Plainly  she  must  have  it  over  quickly,  if  ever,  for  she 
dared  not  allow  time  to  tamper  with  her  resolution. 

"  Marian,"  she  said,  turning  slowly,  and  forcing  the 
words  with  difficulty  from  her  trembling  lips,  "have 
you  —  have  you  told  him  ?  " 

Marian  faced  her  coldly.  "Told  him?"  she  in- 
quired, vaguely.  "  I  have  told  him  a  great  many  things. 
What  particular  thing  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"There  is  only  one  thing  that  really  makes  any 
difference  —  so  far  as  the  past  is  concerned." 

"I  imagine  it  is  the  future  that  is  occupying  his 
thoughts  just  now,  not  the  past.  I  am  a  rather  expen- 
sive luxury  for  him." 

She  had  sunk  far  back  into  the  shadow,  and  her 
attitude  was  one  of  insolent  ease  and  defiance. 

232 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  SECRET 

Mrs.  Caldwell  met  the  cool  gaze  leveled  upon  her 
with  a  visible  shrinking.  She  came  hesitatingly  back 
to  the  fire,  and  sat  down  on  the  couch,  taking  a  nearer 
seat.  All  at  once  she  reached  forth  both  her  hands 
and  clasped  the  arm  of  the  great  chair  in  which  Marian 
was  sitting. 

'  Oh,"  she  cried,  with  a  little  catch  in  her  voice,  "  if 
you  haven't  yet  told  him,  let  me  beseech  you  to  do  it 
without  delay.  No  woman  could  be  happy  in  her 
marriage,  knowing  that  a  thing  like  that  was  forever 
between  her  and  her  husband.  When  I  was  married 
I  simply  ransacked  my  brain  to  find  something  to  tell 
Tim.  There  really  wasn't  anything,  but  it  made  me 
feel  much  better  to  know  that  everything  was  perfectly 
transparent  between  us.  Roger  is  the  sort  of  man 
that  would  expect  absolute  frankness,  just  as  he  would 
be  big  enough  to  be  always  perfectly  sincere  himself. 
There  are  a  great  many  things  that  he  might  condone, 
but  deception  is  not  among  them." 

"Deception?"  Marian  raised  her  eyebrows  and 
stared.  "  May  I  ask  you  to  tell  me  what  you  mean  ?  " 

The  tone  was  as  distant  as  if  addressed  to  a  stranger 
who  had  dared  to  take  an  unwarrantable  liberty. 

Mrs.  Caldwell  stiffened  a  little.  "This  is  not  very 
pleasant,"  she  said,  "for  either  of  us,  but  you  must 
know  to  what  I  refer." 

"I  assure  you  I  haven't  the  remotest  idea." 
233 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

"Oh,  surely — "  Mrs.  Caldwell's  eyes  were  wide 
and  wondering  —  "  surely  you  haven't  forgotten  the 
letter  —  that  terrible  letter  that  came  last  summer  ? 
Oh,  why  do  you  make  me  remind  you  of  it  ?  " 

Marian  rose.  "  It  is  in  the  grossest  bad  taste  imag- 
inable that  you  should  remind  me  of  it,"  she  said, 
severely,  leaning  one  arm  against  the  mantel,  and 
parrying  the  look  with  an  expression  of  quiet  dis- 
dain. 

"But,  Marian,  dear,"  cried  Mrs.  Caldwell,  in  con- 
fusion, and  beginning  again  to  weaken  under  the  spell 
of  the  woman's  tremendous  sweep  of  will  that  was 
rapidly  reducing  her  to  the  mental  condition  of  a 
befuddled  child,  "can't  you  see  that  Roger  ought  to 
be  told?  And  you  must  appreciate  my  position  in 
the  matter.  You  know  that  I  love  you  dearly,  and  it 
just  breaks  my  heart  to  think  of  all  that  you  have 
suffered.  But  I  owe  an  obligation  to  Roger  too  —  to 
Roger  and  to  his  dead  mother.  If  she  had  lived,  and 
if  some  day  the  discovery  had  come  to  her  that  I  was 
a  sharer  in  this  secret,  what  would  she  have  thought 
of  me  if  I  had  stood  by  and  kept  silence  ?  Oh,  if  you 
can't  bring  yourself  to  speak  of  it  to  him,  let  me  tell 
him,  I  will  try  to  do  it  delicately,  I  — " 

With  an  inconceivably  swift  movement  Marian  Day 
turned  and  sank  into  her  chair,  grasping  the  hands  of 
the  suddenly  terrified  being  before  her.  "Would  you 

234 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  SECRET 

dare,"  she  cried,  "would  you  actually  dare  to  do  that 
thing?" 

"But  Marian—" 

Mrs.  Caldwell  glanced  helplessly  into  the  burning 
eyes  peering  into  her  own,  and  drew  back  in  a  sort  of 
desperation.  "Oh,  you  know,  you  know  I  only  want 
to  do  what  is  right,"  she  moaned. 

"Right!" 

The  single  word  broke  from  Marian's  lips  like  the 
tortured  cry  of  the  mortally  wounded,  as  with  a  gesture 
of  infinite  scorn  she  sprang  to  her  feet  again,  and 
stood  with  flashing  eyes  and  quivering  nostrils  —  at 
bay,  yet  ready  to  battle  till  the  last  drop  of  blood  be 
shed  in  her  own  defense. 

"Right!"  she  repeated,  with  a  slow  measurement  of 
words  that  cut  like  sword  thrusts  dealt  by  a  well- 
disciplined  fencer.  "And  what  is  right,  may  I  ask? 
—  since  you  have  taken  upon  your  lips  the  word  that 
has  wrought  more  woe  than  any  other,  including  even 
death  itself.  Is  it  right,  in  order  to  satisfy  a  sheer 
quibble  of  conscience,  that  you  should  reveal  what  the 
merest  accident  made  you  acquainted  with,  and  what 
you  gave  your  most  sacred  word  never  to  disclose? 
Is  it  right  that  you  should  blast  my  life  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Marian  —  Marian  —  that  you  should  speak 
to  me  like  that!" 

But  Marian  was  unrelenting  now.  She  had  grown 
235 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

deadly  pale,  but  once  more  she  was  absolutely  calm. 
She  went  back  to  her  chair. 

"Let  us  talk  this  matter  over  quietly,"  she  said. 
"I  realize  that  I  am  in  your  power;  you  can  destroy 
me  if  you  will.  But  the  question  is,  would  it  be  right 
to  destroy  me,  just  because  you  can  ?  The  word  is 
yours;  then  try  the  case  by  your  own  standard,  the 
standard  of  right." 

It  was  with  Goliath's  own  sword  that  his  head  was 
severed;  and  Mrs.  Caldwell,  finding  her  weapon  thus 
snatched  from  her,  sank  back  weak  and  distracted, 
unable  to  speak  a  word. 

"  You  say  that  you  owe  a  duty  to  Roger  Boiling  and 
to  his  dead  mother;  do  you  owe  none  to  me?"  asked 
Marian,  coldly. 

"Oh,  you  poor,  dear  girl,  do  you  think  I  don't 
recognize  that,"  sobbed  Mrs.  Caldwell,  floundering 
wildly  in  the  sea  of  doubt  into  which  Marian's  strong 
hand  had  thrust  her.  "If  only  you  could  know  how 
my  heart  aches  for  you,  you  wouldn't  —  wouldn't  — 
accuse  me  of  being  anything  that  isn't  kind." 

"And  yet—" 

All  at  once  Marian  wheeled  and  looked  intently 
into  the  tear-stained  face  before  her.  For  some  time 
she  did  not  speak,  and  when  she  did,  her  features 
expressed  a  strange  transformation.  She  had  been 
thinking  hard. 

236 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  SECRET 

"I  have  only  one  thing  to  ask,"  she  said,  "since 
feel  that  you  must  tell  him  — " 

Her  voice  was  sweet  and  plaintive,  and  she  bowed 
her  head  as  in  acceptance  of  her  friend's  decree. 
"There  is  just  one  thing.  I  do  not  want  to  be  here 
when  he  is  told.  I  shall  never  see  his  face  again,  and 
I  want  you  to  promise  me  that  you  will  wait  until  I 
have  gone  before  you  tell  him  —  tell  him  —  of  what 
you  have  saved  him  from." 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Caldwell,  wildly,  "you 
don't  mean  —  you  don't  mean  that,  even  if  he 
should—" 

"I  mean  that  I  should  not  be  willing  to  marry  him, 
even  though  he  should  still  be  willing  to  marry  me, 
as  you  suggest  —  after  he  has  been  told." 

Mrs.  Caldwell  flung  out  her  arms  desperately. 

"Oh,  I  wish,  I  wish  I  knew  what  I  ought  to  do!" 
she  cried. 

"It  is  very  simple,"  said  Marian,  quietly,  with  her 
eyes  on  the  fire.  "It  is  only  to  keep  your  word." 

Mrs.  Caldwell  started.  "I  did  not  mean  to  break 
it,"  she  replied,  with  quiet  dignity.  "Everything  I 
have  said  has  been  based  upon  the  presumption  that 
you  would  release  me." 

Marian  sat  gazing  thoughtfully  into  the  writhing 
lilac  flames.  She  knew  that  she  had  only  to  say, 
"Then  I  do  not  release  you,"  to  end  the  matter  at  once, 

237 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

definitely  and  finally,  thus  taking  the  whole  burden 
upon  herself,  and,  in  a  measure,  relieving  Mrs.  Cald- 
well  of  the  painful  and  unaccustomed  weight  that 
conscience  had  laid  upon  her  plump  shoulders.  But 
there  was  another  and  surer  way.  It  implied  some 
risk.  But  hers  was  one  of  those  daring  natures  that 
find  a  certain  exhilaration  in  hazard,  and  she  would 
have  been  capable  of  staking  everything  upon  the  throw 
of  a  single  die,  even  though  the  game  had  already  just 
been  magnificently  won.  It  had  not  been  really  won  in 
this  instance,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  Mrs.  Caldwell  had 
wavered  like  a  weathercock  at  the  first  breath  of  dis- 
approval. There  was,  in  truth,  only  one  method  where- 
by she  might  with  any  degree  of  surety  be  depended 
on,  and  that  was  to  make  her  a  coadjutor,  through  an 
appeal  to  her  never-failing  kindness  of  heart.  * 

Presently  Marian  looked  up.  She  gave  a  slow 
glance  about  the  pretty  bedroom.  It  was  all  in  blue, 
and  it  was  soft  and  cozy  as  a  bird's-nest.  For  an 
instant  there  flashed  before  her  mind's  eye  a  vision  of 
the  hideous  spot  she  had  left  at  the  close  of  the  last 
school  term,  its  cheerlessness  and  utter  crudity  height- 
ened by  contrast  with  the  warmth  and  luxury  about 
her.  But  she  was  not  deterred.  Her  voice,  though 
very  low,  was  distinct  and  steady  when  she  spoke  at 
last,  and  there  was  in  her  manner  a  sweet  and  patient 
renunciation  that  was  without  hint  of  anger. 

238 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  SECRET 

"I  release  you  absolutely." 

As  the  words  fell  from  her  lips  there  came  a  strange 
dizziness  in  her  head.  For  a  moment  the  room 
swam  before  her.  What  was  the  meaning  of  the  ex- 
pression she  saw  in  the  eyes  bent  so  fixedly  upon  her  ? 
Was  it  relief,  or  was  it  compassion?  She  could  not 
tell.  She  went  on  quickly, 

"  You  know  something  of  what  I  have  suffered  — 
a  little.  But  I  could  never  make  you  half  understand, 
even  if  I  should  try.  I  haven't  tried.  It  always  seems 
so  useless  to  expect  a  person  who  has  never  known 
despair  to  comprehend  the  anguish  of  the  despairing. 
But  you  do  know  that  both  literally  and  figuratively 
I  have  been  starved.  This  is  the  first  door  that  has 
ever  opened  to  me.  It  was  through  you  that  it  was 
opened,  and  it  shall  be  through  you  that  it  is  closed  — 
if  it  is  to  be  closed.  I  have  been  hard  and  bitter  and 
rebellious,  and  it  only  seems  natural  to  go  back  to 
the  old  way  of  thinking  and  feeling.  But  I  had  almost 
given  over  seeing  myself  as  a  person  branded  and 
manacled.  I  had  begun  to  look  forward  to  the  future 
—  actually  to  believe  that  there  was  a  future  for  me. 
As  the  wife  of  Roger  Boiling  I  beheld  myself  rapidly 
developing  into  the  typical  Kentucky  married  woman. 
You  are  all  so  good.  Do  you  wonder  that  I  wished 
to  emulate  you  ?  " 

There  was  a  faint  trace  of  sarcasm  in  the  words, 
239 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

but  Mrs.  Caldwell  did  not  perceive  it.  For  an  instant 
her  attention  had  been  diverted  —  by  the  opening  of 
the  front  hall  door  and  the  sound  of  a  beloved  footstep 
making  music  in  her  ears.  Her  expression  grew  soft 
and  tremulous,  and  two  great  tears  welled  up  into  her 
eyes.  For  once  fate,  as  Marian  would  have  called  it, 
had  dealt  a  kindly  turn. 

Quickly  perceiving  her  advantage  Marian  rose.  The 
heavy  steps  had  begun  to  ascend  the  stairs,  and  she 
was  breathing  rapidly  now,  unable  to  conceal  the 
agitation  that  had  swept  over  her.  It  was  necessary 
to  speak  with  the  utmost  haste. 

"I  leave  the  decision  with  you,"  she  whispered. 
"Let  us  have  in  any  case  no  harking  backward. 
I  have  just  ten  dollars  in  the  world,  and  I  have  resigned 
my  position  at  the  school.  I  want  you  to  know  every- 
thing. The  responsibility  rests  with  you.  I  am  at  your 
mercy.  Shall  you  tell  him,  or  shall  you  be  silent  ?  " 

Mrs.  Caldwell  had  also  risen.  She  was  quivering 
in  every  nerve,  but  her  face  revealed  at  last  only  a 
single  all-absorbing  emotion  —  the  emotion  of  over- 
whelming pity.  She  put  up  both  her  tiny  hands.  Her 
husband's  steps  were  almost  at  the  doorway.  All  at 
once  she  stumbled  forward,  for  tears  were  blinding  her 
eyes. 

"  I  shall  be  silent,"  she  said. 


240 


CHAPTER  XV 

FOR  HIS  OATH'S  SAKE 

IT  was  Roger's  wedding-day,  and  it  had  dawned  so 
dark,  and  chill,  and  cheerless  that  only  the  eye  of 
faith  could  be  persuaded  that  the  sun  still  shone 
somewhere  behind  the  sullen  expanse  of  cloudland 
overhead.  He  smiled  grimly  to  himself  as  he  drew 
back  the  curtain  and  stood  a  moment  looking  out  of 
the  window  of  his  bedroom  after  he  had  dressed.  It 
surely  was  not  an  ideal  marriage  morning,  with  full- 
throated  songbirds  hymning  his  epithalamium,  and  all 
the  bluegrass  meadows  wafting  sweetest  odors  town- 
ward  in  honor  of  his  bridal.  He  had  dreamed  of  a 
day  like  that,  when  the  whole  earth  should  share  in 
his  exuberant  gladness,  when  the  skies  should  be  blue 
in  benediction  and  the  very  trees  of  the  forest  mur- 
murous of  his  joy  —  a  day  of  golden  sunshine,  of 
spring,  of  hope,  of  tenderest  love.  There  was  some- 
thing touching  in  the  wistfulness  of  the  expression  that 
came  into  his  gray  eyes  as  he  gazed  out  upon  the  barren 
November  scene,  slim  and  elegant  in  his  wedding 

241 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

clothes,  yet  with  so  little  of  the  look  of  the  lover  about 
him. 

He  had  grown  much  thinner,  and  he  seemed  at  first 
glance  even  younger  and  more  boyishly  appealing  than 
on  that  summer  morning  at  the  station  when  he  made 
his  cyclonic  ingress  into  the  waiting-room  for  the 
purpose  of  offering  a  delinquent  welcome  to  Marian 
Day.  But  he  was  the  stripling  still  only  in  outline, 
and  it  would  have  been  a  very  superficial  obser- 
vation that  failed  to  see  the  lines  of  grief,  and  pain, 
and  passionate  renunciation  that  recently  had  traced 
themselves  about  the  sensitive  mouth. 

He  was  calm.  Through  the  entire  night  he  had 
slept  as  quietly  as  if  no  unusual  event  awaited  him  on 
the  morrow,  untroubled  by  painful  dreams  or  any  of 
the  haunting  thoughts  which,  until  the  week  before, 
when  the  day  of  his  wedding  had  been  definitely 
determined  upon,  had  made  it  well-nigh  impossible 
for  him  to  obtain  the  needed  rest.  The  hour  for  doubt 
and  questioning  was  past.  The  situation  was  upon 
him,  and  he  was  prepared  to  meet  it,  if  without  the 
ardor  of  a  lover,  at  least  with  the  fine  feeling  of  a 
gentleman. 

But  from  the  first  there  had  been  no  uncertainty  in 
his  mind  as  to  what  his  course  should  be;  the  only 
problem  that  presented  itself  to  him  for  solution  was 
whether  his  own  ability,  spiritual  and  practical,  was 

242 


FOR   HIS   OATH'S   SAKE 

large  enough  and  sure  enough  for  the  tremendous 
requirement  that  was  before  him.  Thus  far  he  had 
not  solved  it  with  any  degree  of  confidence.  But  that 
did  not  alter  his  decision.  He  had  given  his  word, 
and  he  must  keep  it.  The  whole  thing  was  so  very 
simple.  There  were  many  influences  at  work  in  him 
to  drive  him  toward  that  position.  The  traditions  of 
the  fathers  as  expressed  in  a  dashing  Southern  chivalry, 
superb,  poetic,  faulty,  so  sternly  exacting  with  regard 
to  man's  surface  relation  to  woman,  so  easily  lax  with 
regard  to  his  deeper  acts  and  intents  toward  her,  spoke 
to  him  with  an  authority  that  he  was  powerless  to 
combat.  His  heredity,  his  training,  his  every  instinct 
compelled  him  to  allegiance,  regardless  of  all  conse- 
quences. His  word  must  be  kept  inviolate. 

But  the  noiseless  law  of  the  spiritual  world,  even 
more  terribly  real  than  that  of  the  physical,  takes  no 
account  of  man's  blindness.  It  is  his  business  to  seek 
after  Truth,  if  haply  he  may  discover  it,  and  failing  to 
do  this,  the  result  is  not  altered  because  through 
ignorance  he  did  the  thing  that  contains  in  itself  the 
germ  of  his  destruction.  And  though  to  Roger  Boiling 
there  came  with  his  decision  of  marriage  a  sort  of 
tranquillity  that  seemed  to  soothe  and  strengthen,  it 
was  in  reality  the  ease  of  apathy,  rather  than  of  inward 
peace  —  the  sign  of  the  cessation  of  struggle  and  of 
inevitable  retrogression  from  his  loftiest  and  tenderest 

243 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

ideals;  so  that  in  declining  to  a  lower  plane  of  feeling, 
and  in  endeavoring  to  find  in  Marian  Day  compensa- 
tion for  his  loss,  he  was  unconsciously  compelling 
himself  to  become  a  partaker  of  her  nature,  while 
merely  trying  to  make  the  best  of  things,  as  he  honestly 
believed. 

His  wedding  was  to  be  the  simplest  occasion  possible. 
Out  of  deference  to  his  bereavement  Mrs.  Caldwell 
had  reluctantly  agreed  that  there  should  be  no  guests, 
but  it  was  only  after  Roger  had  quietly  and  stead- 
fastly refused  to  give  way  to  her  that  she  had  finally 
yielded  her  wishes  with  respect  to  a  wedding  break- 
fast. She  was  even  less  reconciled  when  the  day  rolled 
round. 

"  It  is  too  bad  that  he  wouldn't  let  me  have  it,"  she 
grieved,  as  she  hurried  about  Marian  helping  her  to 
dress,  "  and  it  was  going  to  be  such  a  good  breakfast, 
too,  for  I  had  thought  of  all  sorts  of  delicious  things. 
I  lay  awake  one  whole  night  planning  it.  And  who 
would  have  believed  that  Roger  could  be  so  obstinate  ? 
Oh,  dear,  to  think  this  dreary  morning  should  be 
anybody's  wedding-day ! " 

"There  would  scarcely  have  been  time,"  replied 
Marian,  absent-mindedly,  as  she  leaned  critically 
toward  her  mirror.  She  turned  her  head  slightly  to 
one  side  and  then  deftly  pinned  one  of  Roger's  roses 
in  her  hair.  "  You  know  that  as  soon  as  I  can  get  out 

244 


FOR    HIS    OATH'S    SAKE 

of  this  and  into  something  else  we  shall  have  to  hurry 
off  to  the  train." 

She  wore  a  white  mull  gown  very  plainly  made,  yet 
not  without  a  certain  distinction  of  its  own  which 
Mrs.  Caldwell  found  difficult  to  interpret,  delighting 
as  she  herself  did  always  in  frills  and  furbelows.  She 
studied  it  carefully,  standing  off  to  one  side. 

"If  only  it  had  had  billows  and  billows  of  lace!" 
she  exclaimed,  ruefully.  "Still  you  do  look  lovely, 
my  dear,  lovely,  though  there  is  not  one  woman  in  a 
thousand  who  could  carry  off  anything  so  unadorned. 
It  just  suits  you  somehow.  Everything  you  make 
for  yourself  has  that  look.  I  don't  know  how  you 
manage  it.  It  must  be  that  superb  figure  of  yours 
and  not  special  skill.  Any  woman  could  have  made 
that  gown,  but  most  likely  she  would  have  looked  a 
frump  in  it,  as  a  reward  for  her  exertion,  while  you  — 
whom  shall  I  liken  you  too  ?  —  Aphrodite,  just  risen 
from  the  waves,  with  sea  foam  all  about  her?" 

"I  hope  I  am  a  more  modest  individual,"  responded 
Marian,  with  a  laugh.  "But  don't  decry  my  raiment; 
elegance  is  not  purchased  at  fifty  cents  a  yard.  That 
last  ten  dollars  had  to  accomplish  much." 

Mrs.  Caldwell  came  nearer  the  dressing-table.  "I 
did  so  want  to  give  you  your  wedding  gown,  Marian," 
she  said,  very  gently. 

Marian  was  coaxing  a  stray  lock  into  place,  and  it 
245 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

seemed  to  require  her  undivided  attention.  "Oh,  did 
you?"  she  inquired,  carelessly,  at  length,  "how  very 
nice  of  you ! " 

"I  pictured  you  in  ivory  satin  and  point  lace;  and  I 
have  some  old,  old  lace  that  has  come  down  to  me 
through  five  generations,  and  I  was  going  to  let  you 
wear  that,  if  only  — " 

Marian  displayed  a  mild  interest.  "  If  only  — 
what  ? "  she  asked,  with  a  swift  turning  of  the  head 
and  one  of  her  glimmering  smiles. 

"If  only  I  had  not  been  afraid." 

"  Afraid  ?  "  Marian  shrugged  her  shoulders.  Then 
she  laughed  softly.  "  I  have  been  so  long  an  eleemosy- 
nary, I  wonder  that  you  hesitated." 

Mrs.  Caldwell  looked  slightly  confused.  She  dropped 
her  eyes,  and  her  plump  person  encased  in  rose-colored 
silk  and  chiffon  heaved  convulsively.  "It  really 
wasn't  you,  my  dear,  so  much  as  —  Roger  that  I 
feared." 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  Marian,  without  a  shade  of  annoy- 
ance, "I  see." 

"He  is  so  very  proud,  you  know,"  said  Mrs.  Cald- 
well, hurriedly  and  suddenly  floundering;  "that  is, 
I  mean,  he  is  rather  fanciful,  and  somehow  —  I  really 
can't  explain  it  —  but  I  felt  sure  that  he  would  not 
want  any  stranger  —  of  course  I  am  not  exactly  a 
stranger  —  but,  oh,  I  just  knew  he  wouldn't  want 

246 


FOR   HIS    OATH'S   SAKE 

me  to  do  it,  and  that  he  would  far  rather  that  his 
bride  should  come  to  him  just  as  you  are  now.  You 
see  I  am  beginning  to  stand  quite  in  awe  of  him." 

Marian  went  over  to  the  fireplace  and  sat  down  in 
the  large  chintz-covered  chair  drawn  up  before  it. 
She  yawned.  "I  can't  say  that  I  find  him  particu- 
larly formidable,"  she  said. 

"It  is  because  he  is  so  determined,"  responded 
Mrs.  Caldwell.  "You  see  how  he  did  about  the 
breakfast.  I  had  not  the  remotest  idea  of  giving  in 
to  him  at  first,  but  he  had  his  way.  I  never  would 
have  agreed  to  it,  though,  if  I  had  known  it  was  going 
to  be  such  a  cloudy  morning." 

"Are  people  especially  hungry  when  the  sun  doesn't 
shine? 

Mrs.  Caldwell  was  sitting  on  the  edge  of  her  chair, 
her  silk  flounces  spread  out  like  the  petals  of  an  in- 
verted rose.  "  I  don't  know,  but  it  surely  would  have 
been  cheerfuller.  I  doubt  that  Roger  has  eaten  any- 
thing, and  I  just  can't  keep  from  thinking  how  his 
mother  would  have  felt  to  have  him  go  off  on  an  empty 
stomach  like  that." 

"He  isn't  going  on  an  empty  stomach,  he  is  going 
on^the  cars,  and  you  might  reserve  a  few  of  your 
anxieties  for  me,  even  if  I  did  eat  two  birds  and  half 
a  dozen  buckwheat  cakes  and  two  or  three  rolls,  with 
coffee  besides." 

247 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

"Oh,  but  you  are  always  so  cool  and  collected." 
"You  remind  me  of  the  reply  of  Talleyrand  to 
Madame  de  Stael.  She  asked,  if  she  and  her  rival 
Madame  Grandt  were  to  fall  into  the  water  at  the 
same  time  and  were  drowning,  which  he  would  save 
first.  He  said,  'Oh,  Madame,  you  swim  so  well.'" 

"You  do  everything  so  well,  my  dear,  even  includ- 
ing getting  married.  I  never  saw  any  one  quite  as 
composed,"  replied  Mrs.  Caldwell,  missing  the  deli- 
cate sarcasm,  and  not  sure  whether  to  admire  or  not. 
She  had  been  such  a  fluttering,  palpitating  bride  her- 
self, and  she  had  supposed  it  was  so  distinctly  the 
proper  way  for  a  bride  to  be,  that  she  could  not  quite 
comprehend  Marian's  nonchalance.  A  doubt  was 
beginning  to  awaken  in  her  mind,  and  it  sent  a  cold 
shiver  through  her,  adding  another  weight  to  the 
burden  she  already  carried  in  relation  to  this  marriage. 
That  Roger  loved  the  woman  who  in  ten  more  minutes 
would  be  standing  by  his  side  echoing  his  own  vows 
of  fidelity  until  death  she  had  never  for  an  instant 
doubted.  But  did  Marian  love  him?  During  the 
past  week  Mrs.  Caldwell  had  been  almost  too  excited 
over  the  uncomfortable  position  which  the  girl's  strong 
will  had  compelled  her  to  take,  too  oppressed  by  the 
thought  that  she  might  not  shift  even  a  little  of  her 
own  accountability  to  Tim's  strong  shoulders,  to  think 
of  much  besides.  She  herself  had  married  for  love, 

248 


FOR   HIS    OATH'S   SAKE 

and  in  a  case  like  the  present  one,  where  the  usual 
sordid  bribe  of  wealth  was  non-existent,  it  seemed 
only  reasonable  to  conclude  that  there  was  no  un- 
worthy motive.  She  was  an  odd  combination  of  the 
practical  and  the  sentimental,  and  while  she  could 
understand  any  amount  of  devotion  that  might  be 
given  to  Roger  for  his  own  sake,  she  was  shrewd 
enough  to  know  that  it  was  not  for  such  manly  quali- 
ties as  he  possessed  that  women  are  apt  to  sell  them- 
selves. Even  his  high  breeding  and  important  social 
place  scarcely  seemed  a  sufficiently  tempting  bait, 
in  view  of  his  poverty. 

But  Marian's  conduct  had  been  baffling.  She  wished 
that  she  might  put  her  to  some  sort  of  test.  She  leaned 
forward  suddenly,  her  piquant,  sallow  little  face  eager 
and  almost  imploring.  Her  voice  trembled  a  little. 

"Marian,"  she  asked,  "is  everything  clear  before 
you?  Do  you  love  Roger  with  all  your  heart  and 
soul  —  as  much  as  he  loves  you  ?  " 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  The  hands  of  the 
little  gilt  clock  on  the  mantel  were  moving  steadily 
onward.  Marian  watched  them  intently.  She  smiled. 
"  I  think  I  can  assure  you,"  she  answered,  without 
moving  her  head,  "that  I  love  him  quite  as  much  as 
he  loves  me." 

The  words  were  crisp,  and  clear-cut,  and  final,  and 
Mrs.  Caldwell,  who  had  hoped  for  something  different 

249 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

—  the  vivid  flush,  the  faltering  speech,  the  tell-tale 
manner  with  which  she  as  a  bride  would  have  re- 
sponded to  such  an  inquiry,  drew  back  only  partially 
reassured.  With  a  little  sigh  she  rose,  and  turned  to 
the  mantel. 

"  I  have  something  for  you  here,"  she  said,  searching 
among  the  bric-a-brac,  "  I  hid  it,  because  I  wanted  to 
give  it  to  you  just  at  the  last  moment." 

"What!"  cried  Marian,  becoming  animated  in  an 
instant,  "Something  besides  that  exquisite  emerald 
necklace  ?  " 

"  Oh,  but  this  is  something  different.  It  quite  puts 
to  shame  that  modern  thing  I  gave  you.  Old  jewelry 
makes  the  new  seem  always  vulgar."  She  took  from 
the  mantel  a  small  jewel  case,  opened  it,  and  held  it 
out. 

It  was  an  antique  cameo  pin  set  in  two  little  rows  of 
pearls,  and  it  possessed  that  fine,  intangible  something, 
apart  from  its  beauty,  that  seemed  to  link  one  instantly 
with  the  past  —  a  past  of  luxury,  of  culture,  of  refine- 
ment. Marian  took  it  into  her  hands  and  surveyed 
it  with  her  usual  cool  scrutiny,  but  made  no  com- 
ment. 

"It  is  an  heirloom,  and  I  could  not  of  course  give 
it  to  you,  if  I  had  any  children  to  inherit  from  me," 
remarked  Mrs.  Caldwell,  her  eyes  taking  on  the  wistful 
look  that  motherly,  childless  women  so  often  wear 

250 


FOR   HIS    OATH'S   SAKE 

when  referring  to  their  lack.  "  But  it  was  yours  before 
I  ever  gave  it  to  you." 

Marian  raised  her  head  and  waited  inquiringly. 

"  I  had  already  given  it  to  Roger's  wife,  whoever  she 
might  be." 

"  Oh,  I  understand." 

"  I  had  it  on  one  day  and  he  simply  went  wild  over 
it  in  his  boyish,  enthusiastic  fashion.  I  told  him  then 
it  should  be  among  his  wife's  wedding  gifts.  It  never 
occurred  to  me  that  I  wasn't  giving  it  to  Sibyl  Fon- 
taine," remarked  Mrs.  Caldwell,  simply. 

Marian  closed  the  case.  She  sat  looking  for  a 
moment  into  the  fire.  "I  believe  I  won't  take 
it,"  she  said  at  length,  as  she  quietly  handed  it 
back. 

"  Don't  you  like  it  ?  "  Mrs.  Caldwell  was  completely 
taken  by  surprise. 

"It  is  lovely,  but  I  have  a  superstition  about  old 
jewelry;  I  should  rather  not  have  it." 

"Superstition!  But  the  superstition  is  all  in  favor 
of  it.  You  should  have  on 

'  Something  old,  and  something  new, 
Something  borrowed  and  something  blue.' " 

"  I  have  on  something  blue  —  my  garters,"  said 
Marian,  quickly  gathering  up  her  skirts.  "Behold 
them!  Don't  you  think  I  would  make  a  nice  ballet 
girl?" 

251 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

"  But,  Marian — "  Mrs.  Caldwell  was  almost  tearfully 
urgent. 

Nevertheless,  Marian  was  not  to  be  persuaded. 
"  Keep  it,"  she  said,  with  a  hard  little  laugh,  as  she 
sank  back  into  her  chair  again,  "  keep  it  —  for  Roger's 
second  wife." 

There  was  a  step  on  the  asphalt  below,  and  Mrs. 
Caldwell's  attention  was  distracted.  She  flew  to  the 
window.  Suddenly  the  tears  sprang  into  her  eyes. 

She  stood  so  still  and  was  so  silent  that  Marian 
careened  her  neck  and  sat  looking  toward  her  in 
surprise. 

"  Is  it  the  clergyman  who  is  to  marry  us  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Mr.  Eldridge  has  been  here  for  the  last  half  hour. 
He  is  in  the  library  talking  to  Tim." 

Mrs.  Caldwell's  voice  was  tremulous,  and  she  replied 
without  turning  her  head,  still  lookng  down  upon  the 
slim  figure  advancing  up  the  walk.  But  she  was 
thinking  less  of  Roger  than  of  Roger's  mother  in  that 
moment.  All  at  once  she  wheeled  and  looked  at 
Marian.  The  little  woman's  whole  form  was  quivering 
under  a  sense  of  the  momentous.  She  was  smiling 
through  her  tears,  and  her  manner  showed  a  curious 
commingling  of  roguishness  and  gravity,  of  affection 
and  timorous  appeal. 

"  It  is  Roger,"  she  said,  softly,  waiting  to  see  the 
color  flame  into  the  pearl-white  face. 

252 


FOR   HIS    OATH'S    SAKE 

But  Marian  sat  without  moving  a  muscle,  and  her 
color  did  not  change.  Mrs.  Caldwell  crossed  the  room 
swiftly,  her  little  ruffles  making  a  delicate  swirl  as  she 
turned.  She  leaned  over  the  back  of  the  chair,  and 
then  bent  forward  until  her  lips  touched  the  girl's 
forehead. 

"  Come,"  she  whispered,  growing  pale,  "  come." 


253 


PART  H 

THE  SUBTLE  THING  THAT'S  SPIRIT 


CHAPTER  I 

RED  ROSES 

IT  was  midsummer  again  in  Kentucky,  and  it  was, 
moreover,  the  initial  day  of  the  great  fair  —  that  time- 
honored  institution  of  profit  and  amusement  which 
traces  back  to  the  early  days  of  the  Commonwealth, 
and  which,  beginning  with  the  simplest  of  rural 
exhibits  modeled  upon  the  English  cattle  show,  gradu- 
ally took  on  many  of  the  features  of  the  English  county 
fair,  at  last  developing  into  the  present  splendid, 
varied  display  at  which,  with  deep-rooted  pride,  and 
the  characteristic  fun-loving  spirit  of  their  species, 
yearly  many  thousands  of  Kentuckians  congregate. 

To-day,  the  opening  one  of  the  carnival,  all  in- 
terest was  concentrated  on  a  single  event:  an  extensive 
floral  parade  in  which  many  beautiful  and  prominent 
women  were  to  participate,  and  for  the  nonce  the 
fleet-footed  racer  and  the  mild-eyed  Jersey  were  rele- 
gated to  the  background ;  even  the  "  Plaza,"  that  most 
bewildering  and  delightful  of  places,  the  tempting 
abode  of  the  snake-charmer  and  the  mind-reading 

257 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

dog,  of  Japanese  acrobats  and  dancing  girls,  was 
scarcely  thought  of,  though  it  was  well  known  that 
"  Evaleen,  the  peerless  water  queen, "  was  advertised 
to  eat,  drink,  sew,  and  sleep  in  a  glass  tank  filled  with 
water,  and  that  three  intrepid  bicyclists  would  "ride 
at  the  rate  of  a  mile  a  minute  on  a  circular-built  fence 
at  an  angle  thrillingly  near  the  perpendicular." 

As  the  day  wore  on  the  crowd  became  more  and 
more  dense,  and  by  two  o'clock,  when  the  long  floral 
procession  moved  from  the  town,  a  most  impatient 
and  perspiring  throng  to  the  number  of  ten  or  more 
thousands  awaited  it,  its  start  having  been  heralded 
by  a  wild  pealing  of  bells,  supplemented  by  the  din 
of  factory  whistles  and  the  sound  of  martial  music. 

In  the  field  across  the  tract  hundreds  of  vehicles 
were  lined  up,  whose  occupants  gaily  laughed  and 
chatted,  all  unmindful  of  the  scorching  August  sun. 
One  of  the  last  to  arrive  was  a  tally-ho  coach  contain- 
ing six  persons,  and  it  swept  into  the  paddock  with 
quite  an  air,  the  white  veils  of  the  women  floating  in 
cloud-like  abandon,  and  their  voices  blending  merrily 
with  a  recurrent  masculine  undertone.  On  the  front 
seat  a  pale,  dark  woman,  with  an  impassive,  some- 
what wearied  countenance,  sat  surveying  the  scene 
with  languid  interest,  sometimes  turning  her  head  to 
make  a  remark  to  the  laughing  girls  and  their  escorts 
behind,  but  giving  her  main  attention  to  the  man  next 

258 


RED   ROSES 

to  her.  The  woman  was  rather  pretty  in  a  cold, 
unresponsive  way,  and  she  appeared  as  wholly  un- 
aware of  the  gaze  and  comment  their  advent  had  called 
forth  as  if  she  were  alone.  It  was,  however,  a  divided 
scrutiny  that  was  being  bestowed  upon  her,  quite  as 
many  glances  as  were  given  to  her  being  directed 
to  the  distinguished  looking  and  more  self-conscious 
individual  at  her  side,  whose  thin  skin  had  flushed  a 
little  above  his  Vandyke  beard. 

"It's  that  pretty  Mrs.  Sullivan,"  whispered  a  girl 
in  the  neighboring  carriage,  "and  the  man  with  her 
is  Mr.  Waller — Francis  Waller,  the  famous  author, 
you  know.  Isn't  he  stunning?  He  is  visiting  her  at 
her  country  place.  Here,  turn  your  head  just  a  little, 
but  don't  stare  at  them,  for  the  sake  of  the  honor  of 
Lexington;  it  seems  so  provincial." 

"I  shall  not  stare  at  them  for  the  sake  of  the  honor 
of  myself,"  declared  the  other  girl  with  spirit.  All 
the  same  she  turned  her  head,  the  promptings  of 
aroused  curiosity  being  irresistible.  "She  is  only  a 
tiny  bit  pretty,"  she  added,  disdainfully,  "  and  I  think 
it  was  simply  detestable  of  her  to  marry  that  horrid 
man  she  did,  just  for  his  money." 

"  How  do  you  know  she  did  that  ?  Do  take  a  look 
at  the  celebrity." 

Francis  Waller  was  bowing  low,  having  caught  the 
eye  of  an  acquaintance,  that  curious  commingling  of 

259 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

insolence  and  deference,  of  self-esteem  and  self-abase- 
ment, that  to  the  observant  was  never  quite  absent 
from  his  manner,  being  to-day  especially  pronounced. 
In  truth,  he  had  been  studying  the  crowd  with  a  quiet 
scorn,  one  instant  possessed  of  a  sort  of  secret  wonder- 
ment that  his  appearance  apparently  did  not  call 
forth  more  than  a  brief  and  passing  notice,  attention 
having  wandered  to  some  later  arrival,  the  next,  cut 
and  annoyed  by  the  easy  indifference  to  his  greatness, 
reminding  himself  of  the  little  he  had  accomplished, 
and  vowing  renewed  fidelity  to  his  work.  Though  by 
no  means  unappealed  to  by  the  picturesqueness  of 
the  occasion,  and  meaning  some  day  to  write  a  tender 
and  glowing  bucolic  inspired  by  his  visits  to  Ken- 
tucky, he  was  yet  at  the  moment  too  occupied  with  the 
thought  of  his  immediate  conspicuousness  and  the  effect 
it  had  produced  to  be  keenly  alive  to  anything  save  his 
own  sensitivity.  The  pose  of  the  great  artist  was  some- 
thing that  he  was  unable  for  an  instant  to  abandon.  He 
had  grown  stouter,  the  most  elegant  of  clothing  being 
inadequate  to  conceal  the  unfortunate  fact,  and  his  hair 
was  thinner,  the  suspicion  of  baldness  which  a  year  be- 
fore had  begun  to  appear  on  the  crown  of  his  head  hav- 
ing become  almost  a  reality.  His  manner  was  nervous 
and  slightly  irritable,  and  he  turned  with  a  start  as  a 
small  boy  near  the  coach  lifted  up  his  voice  and  yelled 
at  the  first  glimpes  of  the  approaching  parade. 

260 


RED   ROSES 

An  instant  afterward  a  shout  from  thousands  of 
throats  rent  the  air,  and  to  the  sound  of  drums  and 
bugles  the  pageant  came  into  view  —  city  officials, 
county  officials,  secret  societies,  men  in  white,  men  in 
red,  Sir  Knights,  Exalted  Rulers,  glittering  marshals, 
with  bands,  and  equipages,  and  automobiles  swathed 
in  bunting,  passed  before  the  sight  in  bewildering 
splendor,  and  seemingly  stretching  out  ad  infinitum. 

For  a  while  the  crowd  gazed  and  applauded,  then 
the  spectacle  seemed  to  pall.  People  were  beginning 
to  move  uneasily,  and  to  be  conscious  of  their  discom- 
fort as  they  sweltered  beneath  the  fiery  sapphire  sky. 
The  zest  of  the  thing  was  waning  when  interest  was 
again  revived.  A  tiny  cart  with  two  children  in  it 
drawn  by  a  Shetland  pony  trundled  into  the  ring  and 
paused  before  the  judge's  stand.  The  cart  was  deco- 
rated with  pink  and  white  chrysanthemums  and  in  the 
manner  to  make  it  resemble  a  basket  of  flowers;  out  of 
it  two  piquant  little  faces  peeped  eagerly  expectant. 
It  was  followed  almost  immediately  by  other  vehicles, 
every  color  of  the  rainbow  being  represented,  until  the 
scene  was  like  an  immense,  variegated  garden  on 
wheels,  each  of  the  long  line  of  equipages  and  its 
occupants  vying  with  the  rest  and  each  being  the 
avowed  choice  of  many.  The  verdict,  however,  as  to 
which  should  receive  the  first  prize  had  gradually 
settled  down  in  favor  of  a  victoria  containing  two  very 

261 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

young  girls  in  white  and  purple,  the  decorations  being 
snow-balls  and  purple  irises,  when  the  last  of  all  the 
vehicles  appeared.  It  was  a  bower  of  American  beauty 
roses  and  it  was  drawn  by  two  black  horses  with  white 
harness.  It  contained  a  single  occupant,  a  beautiful 
woman  in  diaphanous  white,  who  was  driving.  At 
first  sight  of  it  the  cheering  broke  forth  anew,  only  to 
gather  volume  when  the  carriage  drew  nearer,  and  the 
features  of  the  woman  became  more  distinguishable. 
As  the  sunlight  fell  upon  her  red-brown  hair  Francis 
Waller  leaned  quickly  forward  and  adjusted  his  eye- 
glasses. 

"  Ah ! "  he  said,  quickly,  under  his  breath,  "  Ah ! " 

His  companion's  pale  face  had  taken  on  something 
like  a  look  of  animation,  and  she  watched  the  carriage 
as  it  passed  and  repassed  with  a  generous  admiration 
untinctured  by  any  sort  of  envy.  She  had  once  been 
beautiful  and,  now  that  her  looks  were  fading,  she  felt 
no  disposition  to  deny  to  other  women  anything  that 
was  theirs.  Perhaps  she  had  learned  that  beauty 
means  little  to  the  possessor  when  it  does  not  bring  its 
crowning  guerdon,  love.  She  too  leaned  a  little 
forward. 

"  Mrs.  Roger  Boiling ! "  she  exclaimed.  "  How  lovely 
she  is !  I  do  hope  she  will  win ;  her  carriage  is  the  very 
prettiest  of  them  all." 

Marian  had  paused  before  the  judge's  stand,  her 
262 


RED    ROSES 

spirited  team  chafing  under  the  momentary  restraint. 
There  was  a  brief  period  of  breathless  waiting,  then  the 
carriage  wheeled,  and  the  blue  ribbon  was  fluttering 
from  the  harness. 

"  She  has  it ! "  cried  the  girls  and  young  men  of  the 
coach  in  chorus,  joining  in  the  wild  applause.  Francis 
Waller  sat  staring  in  the  direction  of  the  approaching 
vehicle,  but  he  did  not  clap  his  hands,  and  his  face  was 
not  easy  to  read.  Not  once  had  he  taken  his  eyes  off 
the  carriage,  but  whether  his  gaze  expressed  approval 
or  not  Mrs.  Sullivan  could  not  decide.  His  fastidious- 
ness kept  her  constantly  on  a  strain,  and  somewhat  did 
away  with  her  pleasure  in  his  distinguished  society. 
Possibly  .he  was  thinking  that  the  whole  thing  was 
tawdry  and  vulgar,  and  she  was  half  ashamed  of  having 
committed  herself.  She  determined  to  test  him. 

"  Don't  you  think  her  beautiful  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Look 
at  her  through  this." 

He  put  up  the  field-glasses  very  coolly  and  quite  as 
if  his  attention  were  directed  for  the  first  time  to 
Marian's  smooth,  clear-cut  features. 

"  Very  beautiful,"  he  responded,  gravely,  at  length. 

"  Do  you  know  her  ?  " 

"  I  have  met  her." 

"I  hear  that  her  husband  is  immensely  clever  — 
quite  the  most  promising  of  the  young  men  at  the  bar 
here.  I  wish  that  we  might  have  them  at  our  house. 

263 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

I  asked  him  once  or  twice  before  his  marriage,  but  he 
never  accepted.  I  wonder  —  "  she  hesitated  a  moment, 
and  began  counting  on  her  fingers  —  "I  wonder  if  they 
would  care  to  come  to  the  little  dinner  we  are  having 
to-morrow  evening?" 

"You  might  ask  them;  it  would  be  an  excellent  way 
to  find  out." 

"  Are  you  sure  you  are  not  superstitious  ?  " 

He  turned,  and  for  the  first  time  removed  his  gaze 
from  the  rose-covered  carriage  parading  in  full  view. 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  he  responded.     "  Why  ?  " 

"  Because  they  will  make  thirteen." 

"  Perhaps  it  would  be  a  means  of  discovering  whether 
sudden  death  or  dire  misfortune  does  really  follow  in 
the  wake  of  the  fateful  number.  For  my  part  I  am 
willing  to  risk  it." 

The  carriage  was  bowling  slowly  in  their  direction 
again.  Marian  was  smiling  and  bowing  to  acquaint- 
ances as  she  passed.  She  was  radiant,  and  she  was 
more  than  ever  like  some  gorgeous  tropical  bloom  in 
her  floral  setting.  She  had  grown  rounder  of  form, 
but  the  gracious,  sinuous  curves  remained,  her  increase 
of  flesh  merely  giving  a  more  womanly  accent  to  her 
beauty.  It  was  only  when  the  smile  died  off  her  face 
that  there  was  the  suggestion  of  latent  hardness,  a 
peculiar  expression  that  traced  itself  on  her  features 
now  and  then,  not  easily  translatable,  and  that  set  one 

264 


RED    ROSES 

to  wondering  about  her.  It  was  an  indefinite,  inde- 
finable something  that  one  felt  rather  than  saw,  and  it 
was  of  a  part  with  her  evident  pleasure  in  this  exhibi- 
tion of  herself,  which  was  of  a  nature  distinctly  different 
from  that  of  the  other  maids  and  matrons,  their  enjoy- 
ment being  of  a  simpler  and  more  spontaneous  order, 
more  like  play  than  earnest,  and  partaking  of  the  same 
spirit  of  fun  that  shone  in  the  faces  of  the  two  roguish 
children. 

Mrs.  Sullivan  was  no  nearer  than  before  to  obtaining 
a  clue  to  the  author's  opinion  either  as  regarded  the 
parade  in  general  or  the  winner  of  the  first  prize  in 
particular.  She  knew  that  some  people  detested  paper 
flowers.  But  a  strange  thing  happened.  As  she 
glanced  at  him  she  noticed  for  the  first  time  that  he 
wore  a  red  rose  in  the  lapel  of  his  coat. 

"Why,  you  have  on  her  colors!"  she  exclaimed  as 
Marian  drew  near.  He  started. 

It  was  purely  accidental,  his  selection  and  wearing 
voice  speaking  to  him  roused  him  to  an  unthinking, 
romantic  impulse.  He  was  looking  straight  ahead  of 
him  and  his  gaze  was  fixed  on  Marian's  face.  The 
coach  was  drawn  up  quite  close  to  the  fence.  A  number 
of  vehicles  were  moving  homeward  now.  The  track 
was  crowded,  so  that  the  nearest  one,  the  one  covered 
with  red  roses,  was  within  only  a  few  feet  of  the  field 
as  it  passed.  Just  as  the  carriage  came  into  full  view 

265 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

he  rose  and,  taking  the  flower  from  his  button-hole, 
flung  it  straight  into  the  lap  of  its  occupant,  a  whimsical 
smile  chasing  itself  across  his  features. 

There  was  a  ripple  of  laughter  from  all  that  saw  it, 
and  Marian  turned  her  head  quickly.  A  startled  look 
came  into  her  face,  and  a  vivid  flush  swept  to  her 
brows.  Francis  Waller,  still  smiling,  made  her  a 
profound  obeisance,  half  mocking,  half  serious. 

For  the  briefest  space  her  eyelids  flickered.  Then 
she  returned  his  gaze  with  a  smile  as  daring  as  his  own, 
looking  deep  into  his  greenish  eyes  with  an  expression 
that  set  his  pulses  tingling.  An  instant  afterwards, 
with  a  distant  bow  that  included  both  him  and  his 
companions  she  passed  on. 


266 


CHAPTER  II 

'   THE   LIGHT  THAT   LED   ASTRAY 

IT  was  six  o'clock  of  the  same  afternoon,  and  Roger 
Boiling,  wearied  from  the  exertion  of  an  especially  busy 
day  and  the  garrulity  of  a  belated  client,  who  had  kept 
him  at  the  office  some  time  after  his  usual  hour  for 
leaving,  was  walking  slowly  up  the  little  path  leading  to 
his  house  with  an  air  of  abstraction,  his  mind  still  labor- 
ing with  the  knotty  legal  point  which  had  just  been  pro- 
pounded to  him.  Since  his  marriage  he  had  thrown 
himself  with  a  mighty  zeal  and  determination  into  his 
profession,  a  sort  of  iron-bound  resolution  that  was  in 
a  measure  the  result  not  only  of  necessity  but  of  a 
passionate  and  desperate  longing  to  wrest  from  life 
something  in  exchange  for  what  was  denied  him, 
holding  him  to  his  work,  and  giving  to  his  naturally 
energetic  disposition  a  stimulus  that  was  a  never-failing 
goad.  At  times,  as  during  the  summer  preceding  his 
engagement,  he  worked  irrationally,  with  an  almost 
reckless  disregard  for  health  and  a  kind  of  intensity  of 
concentration. 

267 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

He  dared  not  probe  too  deeply  into  the  primal 
motive  that  was  back  of  all  this,  lest  it  rise  up  and 
confront  him  as  the  pale  ghost  of  what  was  once  a 
noble  impulse.  Formerly,  he  well  knew,  it  had  not 
been  ambition  alone  that  had  swayed  him.  Though 
he  had  felt  always  the  usual  normal,  healthful  desire 
for  a  prosperous  issue  as  a  result  of  his  labors,  and  that 
in  a  more  compelling  degree,  perhaps,  than  most,  there 
had  yet  been  something  more  that  had  held  him  man- 
fully to  his  purpose:  a  certain  quiet  earnestness  at  the 
root  of  his  nature,  that,  despite  his  gaiety  and  apparent 
light-heartedness,  forced  him  to  regard  all  effort  from 
the  standpoint  of  the  spiritual  import;  so  that  his  shy, 
boyish  confession  to  Sibyl  Fontaine  as  the  two  had  sat 
together  in  the  moonlit  garden  on  the  night  before  her 
departure  more  than  a  year  before  had  been  in  truth 
a  revelation  of  the  groundwork  upon  which  rested  his 
loftiest  aims,  just  as  it  was  a  lifting  of  the  veil  that 
concealed  his  most  sacred  and  intimate  emotions. 

Then  he  had  meant  to  be,  as  he  had  told  her,  in  a 
large  sense  a  Man,  with  all  that  that  should  stand  for 
both  with  regard  to  others  and  to  himself.  The  simple 
sincerity  of  the  utterance,  the  unshaken  faith  in  himself 
and  his  own  ideals,  the  deep  thrill  and  throb  and  hope 
of  it  all — ah,  what  would  he  not  have  given  to  feel  them 
once  again! 

Yet  all  unconscious  to  himself  there  had  been  taking 
268 


LIGHT   THAT   LED   ASTRAY 

place  within  him  a  growth  in  the  very  direction  toward 
which  he  had  then  aspired.  Marriage  either  definitely 
elevates  or  degrades;  it  never  allows  a  being  to  remain 
in  a  seemingly  stationary  state;  and,  through  his  inhar- 
monious mating  and  his  later  resistance  to  its  tendency 
to  drag  him  downward,  gradually  there  came  to  him 
a  new  and  profounder  understanding  with  regard  to 
the  vital  relations  of  life.  Hitherto  his  attitude  toward 
the  great  elemental  passions  of  humanity  had  been 
merely  that  of  an  undeveloped  personality,  soundly 
healthful  on  its  physical  side,  but  only  dimly  compre- 
hending the  harmonious  duality  of  its  own  nature,  its 
tremendous  exactions,  its  inherent  needs;  and,  in 
coming  to  realize  that  the  individual  nature  is  thus 
dual,  the  flesh  and  the  spirit,  he  saw,  in  its  large  signifi- 
cance, that  humanity  also  is  dual,  the  man  and  the 
woman,  thus  attaining,  out  of  a  deep  sense  of  awe  and 
reverence  for  his  own  being,  to  the  idea  of  the  unity  of 
marriage,  and  thence  to  a  clearer  apprehension  of  the 
mystery  of  the  incarnation  —  the  oneness  of  the  Divine 
with  the  human. 

Already,  though  crudely  as  yet,  through  the  work- 
ings of  this  broader  understanding  of  the  underlying 
symbolism  of  life,  he  was  beginning  to  perceive  the 
profundity  of  the  error  he  had  committed  in  the  name 
of  righteousness.  All  his  props  seemed  to  be  falling 
from  him.  Conscience,  which  at  first  had  spoken  so 

269 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

loudly,  had  grown  shy  and  unresponsive  to  him  now. 
All  the  strength,  all  the  opposition  he  possessed  was 
at  times  brought  into  play  against  the  siren  voice  lur- 
ing him  to  his  doom,  and  it  was  only  after  many  a 
hard  fight  with  himself  that  he  conquered  the  impulse 
to  succumb  and  to  allow  the  earth  side  the  predomi- 
nance that  it  clamored  for.  For  there  was  still  that 
in  him  which  sometimes  Marian  could  appeal  to. 
He  could  not  elevate  her  to  his  standard;  and  it  was 
with  a  sort  of  diabolical  pride  on  her  part  and  a  sense 
of  humiliation  on  his  that  she  was  able  temporarily, 
and  through  the  power  of  her  own  seductions,  to  bring 
him  down  to  hers. 

But  to-day  he  was  tired  and  careworn,  and  in  no 
mood  to  hasten  into  his  wife's  presence.  The  air  had 
grown  cooler,  and  as  he  went  up  the  path  he  took 
off  his  hat,  a  very  natural  action  with  him  always, 
instinctively  resorted  to  when  out  of  doors  alone  and 
safe  from  observation,  and  let  the  light  wind  play 
against  his  hot  brow,  finding  relief  to  his  jaded  senses 
in  the  soft  caress.  It  was  the  hour  at  which  his  mother, 
serene,  gracefully  gowned  and  expectant,  used  to  sit 
in  the  little  drawing-room,  quietly  anticipating  his 
coming,  and  with  all  the  ceremony  with  which  she 
would  have  awaited  the  arrival  of  a  prince.  No 
engagement  of  any  kind  was  ever  allowed  to  interfere 
with  the  obligation  she  felt  to  welcome  him  when  he 

270 


LIGHT   THAT   LED   ASTRAY 

should  come  back  to  her  at  the  close  of  his  day's  work, 
eager  for  the  comfort  of  her  presence.  Out  of  the 
many  vicissitudes  that  the  day  might  hold  there  was 
one  thing  she  wished  him  to  be  sure  of  as  safe  from  all 
mutation:  her  attitude  of  changeless  love  and  of  calm 
abiding.  As  his  feet  rested  upon  the  first  step  of  the 
little  vine-covered  porch  the  old  heart-sickness  and 
longing  that  were  still  often  as  present  with  him  as  in 
the  early  weeks  of  his  bereavement  came  back  to  him, 
and  a  mist  gathered  in  his  eyes. 

The  house  was  very  still,  although  the  doors  and 
windows  were  thrown  wide,  indicating  life  and  move- 
ment somewhere,  despite  the  momentary  quietude. 
Marian  doubtless  was  away,  he  concluded,  and  before 
going  up-stairs  to  prepare  for  dinner  he  sat  down  on 
the  long,  green-painted  settle  on  the  side  of  the  porch 
and  picked  up  the  evening  Leader,  which  had  just  been 
thrown  in. 

His  eye  ran  carelessly  down  the  first  page.  The  paper, 
as  indicated  by  the  headlines,  seemed  to  be  given  over 
mainly  to  enthusiastic  descriptions  of  the  fair,  inter- 
larded with  frequent  reference  to  Lexington  as  "  the  Un- 
rivalled Queen,"  and  the  surrounding  region  as  "  God's 
Country,"  the  scribe,  following  the  usual  Kentucky 
fashion,  evidently  being  by  no  means  backward  in  pro- 
claiming his  particular  quarter  of  the  globe  preeminent, 
as  well  as  the  special  object  of  divine  favor. 

271 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

Suddenly  Roger  started  and  caught  in  his  breath, 
his  glance  attracted  by  something  in  another  column. 
"Mrs.  Roger  Boiling  the  Lovely  Winner  of  the  First 
Prize  in  the  Floral  Parade"!  he  read  in  astonish- 
ment. But  surely  there  was  some  mistake.  She  had 
not  even  told  him  of  her  intention  to  take  part  in  such 
an  exhibition.  He  sat  holding  the  paper  in  his  hands, 
staring  at  it  in  complete  surprise.  Then  he  turned 
to  the  paragraph  referred  to  in  the  headlines,  and 
read  it  through.  His  face  flushed,  and  a  look  of 
annoyance  swept  across  his  features. 

But  gradually  his  expression  altered.  The  sweet- 
ness and  chivalry  of  his  nature  began  to  assert  them- 
selves. He  could  not  allow  himself  anything  like  a 
feeling  of  irritation  toward  her;  it  seemed  to  him  so 
small,  so  unworthy,  and  yet  —  why  had  she  not  told 
him  ?  Was  it  because  she  feared  he  would  oppose 
her  in  this  public  parading  of  herself?  He  pondered 
the  thing.  Since  their  marriage  they  had  accepted  no 
invitations,  and  the  retirement  in  which  she  had  been 
compelled  to  live  out  of  respect  for  his  bereavement 
he  more  than  suspected  was  not  to  her  liking.  Per- 
haps he  had  been  selfish,  he  told  himself,  confronted 
by  this  rather  pronounced  evidence  of  her  desire  for  a 
less  secluded  existence.  Admiration,  he  knew,  to  her 
tropical  temperament  was  as  much  an  essential  as 
sunlight  is  to  most  orders  of  plants.  Without  it  the 

272 


LIGHT   THAT   LED   ASTRAY 

very  essence  of  her  being  seemed  to  change.  Of  late 
she  had  been  listless  and  even  apathetic,  leaving  him 
unmolested  to  his  work,  spending  her  evenings  not 
unfrequently  in  her  own  apartments  with  a  novel 
while  he  delved  in  the  library  below. 

As  Roger  sat  thinking  there  came  to  him,  in  ex- 
change for  his  momentary  annoyance,  a  feeling  of 
self-condemnation,  and  he  found  himself,  with  the 
instinct  of  all  fine  natures,  manfully  shifting  the  blame 
from  the  one  who  had  seemed  to  cause  his  disturbance 
to  himself.  All  at  once  he  rose,  having  first  folded 
the  paper  so  that  the  column  he  had  just  read  should 
be  given  special  prominence.  Then  he  went  quickly 
up  the  stairs  and  knocked  softly  on  his  wife's  door, 
still  holding  the  paper  in  his  hand. 

There  was  a  response,  and  he  entered. 

Marian  was  sitting  in  a  loose  white  gown  before  her 
dressing-table  lazily  combing  out  her  hair.  Her  arms 
and  throat  were  bare,  and  as  the  departing  rays  of 
sunshine  fell  full  upon  them  they  shone  like  polished 
marble.  Now  and  then  a  stray  sunbeam  as  she 
turned  her  head  from  side  to  side  rested  upon  her 
hair  and  then  seemed  to  become  entangled  in  its  tawny 
interstices,  transforming  the  whole  into  "a  golden 
mesh  to  entrap  the  hearts  of  men."  She  had  evi- 
dently been  sleeping  just  a  short  time  before,  and  her 

273 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

expression  was  relaxed,  a  delicate  rose  tint  still  lingering 
in  one  cheek  where  it  had  pressed  against  the  pillow. 
She  had  mistaken  Roger's  entrance  for  that  of  the 
maid  coming  to  wake  her,  and  she  took  no  notice, 
proceeding  with  her  combing  in  an  absorbed  fashion, 
and  keeping  her  eyes  upon  the  mirror  with  an  intensity 
of  gaze  in  which  a  variety  of  emotions  mingled.  All 
at  once  a  little  thrill  of  delight  in  her  own  beauty 
seemed  to  sweep  through  her,  and  she  leaned  toward 
her  own  reflection,  and  smiled.  The  comb  fell  from 
her  hand,  and  as  Roger  sprang  forward  to  restore  it 
to  her,  she  turned  and  saw  him  for  the  first  time. 

There  was  a  swift  rush  of  crimson  to  her  brow,  and 
her  bosom  beneath  its  soft  gown  heaved  convulsively. 
"  I  thought  you  were  Susan,"  she  said,  guiltily,  finger- 
ing the  articles  on  her  dressing  table,  at  random,  and 
for  once  completely  disconcerted. 

He  had  been  gazing  at  her  rapt  and  motionless, 
some  subtle  emanation  from  the  secret  excitement  she 
was  under  communicating  itself  to  him  and  weaving  a 
spell  around  him  which  made  him  powerless  to  stir. 
He  had  scarcely  seemed  to  breathe.  But  as  the  comb 
slid  from  her  grasp  he  had  suddenly  come  to  himself. 

"  I  am  glad  you  did  think  I  was  Susan,"  he  tried  to 
say  lightly,  as  he  flung  himself  down  on  the  Turkish 
lounge  near  the  window,  "  as  otherwise  I  might  have  lost 
a  very  lovely  picture."  He  gathered  up  one  of  the 

274 


LIGHT   THAT   LED   ASTRAY 

many  sofa  pillows  about  him  and  studied  it.  He 
flushed  a  little  as  he  spoke  and  looked  away  in  a  sort 
of  odd,  boyish  embarrassment,  as  if  the  remark  had 
been  made  to  the  veriest  stranger. 

Marian  shot  a  quick  glance  at  him  from  under  her 
curling  lashes. 

"Praise  from  my  husband  ought  to  be  delightful 
if  only  for  the  sake  of  its  novelty." 

The  tone  was  cool  and  premeditated,  yet  scarcely 
reproachful.  She  had  turned  again  to  her  mirror  and 
with  deft  movements  was  twisting  her  hair  into  place. 
Her  manner  had  resumed  its  usual  quiet  unconcern,  or 
half  sullen  indifference  toward  everything  about  her. 

He  was  silent,  and  then,  as  she  continued  to  ignore 
him,  suddenly  he  leaned  forward.and  handed  her  the 
evening  paper.  He  was  smiling. 

"It  would  seem,"  he  observed,  "that  you  have  had 
the  praise  of  many  beside  your  husband  to-day." 

She  faced  him  again,  startled  in  spite  of  herself. 
She  looked  straight  into  his  eyes,  but  she  was  unable 
to  read  the  expression  she  saw  there. 

"You  are  annoyed,  of  course,"  she  said,  quickly, 
and  on  the  defensive  instantly. 

"  Am  I  ?  "  he  asked.     "  Why  do  you  conclude  that  ?  " 

"Because  you  belong  to  that  particular  class  of 
men  who  would  like  to  throw  around  their  woman- 
kind the  seclusion  of  a  harem." 

275 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

Roger  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed  aloud, 
his  face  growing  almost  instantly  grave  again.  But 
he  said  nothing. 

"I  have  discovered  that  it  is  a  Kentucky  trait," 
she  continued,  reaching  for  another  hairpin.  "  Here 
a  married  woman  may  be  beautiful,  and  she  quite 
frequently  is,  but  she  must  desire  to  be  beautiful  for 
her  husband  alone,  else  she  may  call  down  upon  her- 
self not  only  his  disapproval  but  that  of  a  whole  com- 
munity besides.  With  him  it  is  merely  an  expression 
of  the  old  savage  instinct  of  mastery  over  the  thing 
he  chooses  to  think  belongs  to  him,  a  survival  of  the 
slave  idea;  with  the  rest  it  is  usually  envy." 

"And  was  it  because  you  were  so  sure  of  my  dis- 
approval that  you  did  not  mention  to  me  beforehand 
your  part  in  the  performance  described  here  ?  " 

His  voice  w^s  troubled,  but  it  was  without  a  trace 
of  resentment.  On  the  contrary  there  was  in  it  a 
lingering  note  of  appeal,  as  if  even  yet  he  was  clinging 
to  some  floating  fragment  from  the  wreck  of  his  lost 
happiness,  and  with  the  blind  hope  of  reconstruction. 
It  is  so  difficult  when  one  is  still  young  to  settle  down 
into  patient  acceptation  of  the  irremediable.  Daily 
the  separation  between  them  had  been  growing  wider. 
This  act  of  hers,  unimportant  in  itself,  but  which  had 
taken  on  a  special  significance  through  the  fact  that 
she  had  allowed  it  to  become  somewhat  of  the  nature 

276 


LIGHT   THAT   LED   ASTRAY 

of  a  revolt,  had  begun  to  mark  a  new  period  in  their 
marital  relations.  It  seemed  to  reduce  them  to  the 
low  and  vlugar  plane  of  the  outwardly  incompatible. 
Perhaps  it  was  his  breeding  that  suffered  most,  the 
mental  and  emotional  parts  of  him  being  shielded 
from  her  power  greatly  to  hurt,  through  the  melan- 
choly realization  that  had  early  come  to  him. 

"Was  it  because  of  that?"  he  repeated,  a  look  of 
profound  sadness  showing  on  the  young  face. 

She  thought  a  moment  before  she  answered  him, 
idly  slipping  off  and  on  her  wedding  ring,  and  tapping 
the  floor  with  her  foot.  All  at  once  she  wheeled  and 
sat  sidewise  in  her  chair,  throwing  one  arm  over  the 
back.  Then  she  met  his  gaze  a  trifle  defiantly,  and 
with  something  like  a  return  to  her  old  nonchalance, 
as  her  lips  curled  in  a  slow  smile. 

"Yes,"  she  responded,  steadily,  "it  was  because  of 
that  —  just  that." 

"I  am  sorry  that  you  didn't  tell  me,  Marian." 
"  That  I  didn't  give  you  the  opportunity  to  object  ?  " 
"I  should  not  have  objected." 
She  looked  up  quickly.     "  You  mean  —  " 
"  I  mean  simply  that  if  you  have  a  taste  for  that  sort 
of  thing  I  do  not  see  upon  what  reasonable  grounds  I 
can  oppose  you  in  gratifying  it.     There  is  something 
almost  ludicrous  in  the  strange  idea  you  seem  to  have 
taken  up  with  regard  to  me  —  if  you  will  pardon  me 

277 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

for  saying  so.  Have  I  ever"  —  he  hesitated  an  instant, 
and  then  met  her  eyes  very  gravely — "have  I  ever 
shown  myself  in  any  way  tryannical  toward  you  ?  " 

She  laughed  softly  to  herself.  "Perhaps  you  half 
suspected  that  I  do  not  belong  to  the  meek,  down- 
trodden order." 

He  winced  a  little  under  the  evident  sarcasm  of  the 
fling,  and  colored.  "I  should  have  said  exacting,"  he 
supplemented,  quickly,  boyishly  awkward  in  the  pres- 
ence of  her  coolness,  which  made  her  seem  many  years 
older  than  himself. 

She  was  silent  a  long  time,  looking  down  at  the  rug 
at  her  feet.  Presently  she  gave  a  wearied  shrug  of 
the  shoulders  as  if  dismissing  the  subject  from  her 
thoughts.  "  You  have  not  been  in  the  least  exacting," 
she  said;  "I  exonerate  you  wholly.  A  man  is  only 
exacting  with  the  woman  who  has  once  aroused  his 
jealous  feeling,  and  you  must  admit  that  my  opportu- 
nities for  doing  anything  like  that  have  been  limited. 
Then  she  quoted  lightly: 

" '  For  patience  she  will  prove  a  second  Grissel 
And  Roman  Lucrece  for  her  chastity.' 

What  is  it,  Susan?"  she  broke  off,  "come  in,  and 
don't  stand  there  knocking.  Ah,  a  note  for  me? 
Bring  it  to  me.  Is  some  one  waiting  for  an  answer  ?  " 
She  opened  the  envelope  quickly,  not  glancing  at  the 
superscription,  her  fingers  trembling  a  little,  and  her 

278 


LIGHT   THAT   LED   ASTRAY 

face  flushing  with  excitement,  while  Roger  sat  watching 
her  wonderingly.  She  had  quite  forgotten  his  very 
presence  even.  Her  breath  was  coming  tumultuously, 
and  her  lips  were  parted,  as  if  she  were  seeking  eagerly 
to  drink  in  the  contents  of  the  note  by  an  actual  physical 
movement,  just  as  if  it  were  in  reality  the  sparkling 
draught  she  anticipated.  Her  eyes  glowed  dark  and 
luminous,  and  she  turned  her  head  to  one  side,  in  order 
that  the  light  might  fall  better  upon  the  page,  with  an 
almost  girlish  coquetry. 

But  at  first  sight  of  the  penmanship  within  she  gave 
a  little  gasp  of  disappointment.  It  was  not  what  she 
had  expected.  The  note  was  written  in  a  nondescript 
feminine  handwriting  and  phrased  in  language  the 
most  conventional.  However,  as  her  glance  fell  upon 
the  closing  sentence  her  expression  quickly  altered 
again.  It  was  this:  "I  venture  to  hope  that  we  have 
a  special  inducement  to  offer  in  the  presence  of  Mr. 
Francis  Waller,  who  will  be  with  us  for  several  days. 
He  tells  me  that  he  knows  Mr.  Boiling  quite  well, 
and  that  he  has  also  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting 
you." 

Marian  slipped  the  note  back  into  its  envelope. 
Her  excitement  had  become  controlled,  but  she  was 
unable  to  keep  a  certain  anxiety  out  of  her  voice  when 
she  next  spoke,  though  she  was  plainly  trying  to  ap- 
pear unconcerned.  She  first  dismissed  the  maid,  telling 

279 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

her  to  return  in  five  minutes.  Then  she  glanced  at 
Roger. 

"This  is  from  Mrs.  Sullivan,"  she  said;  "she  is 
asking  us  to  dine  with  her  to-morrow  evening  at  eight 
o'clock.  Shall  we  accept?" 

Roger  had  been  leaning  on  one  elbow  supported  by 
many  sofa  pillows  which  he  had  piled  up  in  a  heap  in 
a  corner  of  the  lounge.  At  her  inquiry  he  raised  himself 
quickly. 

"I  am  so  sorry,  Marian,"  he  was  beginning  with 
genuine  regret,  but  she  interrupted. 

"I  wish  to  go,"  she  said,  decisively,  a  swift  flame 
sweeping  from  neck  to  brow. 

He  gazed  at  her  in  dumb  bewilderment  at  the 
unmistakable  anger  of  her  look  and  tone. 

"Yes,  but  —  " 

"  Up  to  this  time  I  have  declined  everything,  without 
an  exception,  out  of  regard  for  —  for  your  loss,  but  it 
is  not  just  or  kind  that  you  should  expect  me  to  keep 
on  doing  that  sort  of  thing  forever." 

He  turned  his  face  away,  more  stung  by  her  unfeeling 
reference  to  his  sorrow  than  if  she  had  brutally  raised 
her  hand  and  struck  him.  Presently  he  rose  and  went 
over  and  stood  a  moment  at  the  window  looking  out 
into  the  gathering  summer  twilight,  yet  seeing  nothing 
save  an  undistinguishable  blur  of  objects  before  his 
eyes.  Some  bees  were  droning  in  the  honeysuckle 

280 


LIGHT   THAT   LED   ASTRAY 

down  below.  When  he  turned  finally  he  had  grown 
very  pale,  but  his  manner  seemed  to  have  taken  on  a 
new  calm  and  dignity. 

"  I  know  that  it  has  been  very  dreary  for  you  here," 
he  said  at  last  in  a  low  voice,  as  he  stood  before  her, 
resting  one  hand  on  the  dressing-table,  his  fingers  now 
and  then  wandering  aimlessly  among  the  little  cut-glass 
and  silver  receptacles  and  feminine  trifles  with  which 
it  was  strewn.  Somehow  he  found  it  almost  too  diffi- 
cult a  thing  to  accomplish,  to  bring  himself  to  meet 
her  eyes.  A  great  shame  for  her  most  unexpected 
outbreak  was  filling  him  with  a  sort  of  pity  for  her. 
The  words  that  he  sought  for  would  not  come  easily. 

"  It  surely  has,"  she  responded,  all  at  once  breaking 
into  a  light  spasmodic  laughter,  and  seeking  to  give 
another  turn  to  his  seriousness.  But  she  was  nervous 
and  her  gaiety  sounded  forced  and  mirthless. 

He  went  on  quite  gravely.  "  I  can  well  believe  that 
it  has  been  like  that.  I  am  so  sorry;  I  am  trying  to 
understand.  One  of  the  things  I  came  in  just  now  for 
was  to  say  to  you  that  I  thought  it  would  be  best  that 
we  should  go  out  more.  I  am  afraid  that  I  have  been 
very  selfish;  my  work  is  so  absorbing,  and  I  never 
cared  a  straw  for  society.  I  can  see  that  a  woman 
might  think  about  it  very  differently,  and  I  want  to  put 
myself  in  your  place,  as  far  as  I  may  be  able,  and  try 
to  get  your  point  of  view.  My  mother  had  many 

281 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

friends  here,  and  for  her  sake  I  am  sure  that  they  will 
wish  to  be  especially  civil  to  you." 

"People  get  tired  of  inviting  those  that  never  re- 
spond," she  replied,  with  her  eyes  on  the  ceiling. 

"I  mean  that  they  shall  not  get  tired  of  inviting  us 
for  that  reason,"  he  said,  cheerfully,  "for  w.e  shall 
respond  with  the  utmost  alacrity.  I  am  going  to  turn 
over  a  new  leaf  and  drag  you  into  all  sorts  of  tiresome 
things.  I  may  even  risk  being  described  like  the  hero 
of  the  little  poem  I  shall  recite  to  you : 

"  There  was  a  young  man  so  benighted, 
He  never  knew  when  he  was  slighted; 
He  went  to  a  party, 
And  ate  just  as  hearty, 
As  if  he'd  been  really  invited." 

"  And  yet  we  are  not  to  begin  with  the  Sullivans  ? " 
she  asked,  the  eagerness  once  more  returning  to  her 
voice.  She  was  breathing  quickly,  and  she  leaned  a 
little  toward  him,  her  whole  being  expressing  an 
intensity  of  desire  for  his  acquiescence. 

"We  can't;  you  have  invited  the  Caldwells  here  in 
honor  of  my  birthday." 

She  drew  back,  a  great  relief  in  her  eyes.  "  Oh ! "  she 
cried,  "  is  it  that,  only  that  ?  I  will  telephone  them  not 
to  come,  and  I  will  write  at  once  and  accept  this.  I  had 
forgotten  all  about  them ;  they  have  been  so  long  away." 

He  looked  at  her  very  quietly,  for  the  first  time 
meeting  her  eyes. 

282 


LIGHT   THAT   LED   ASTRAY 

"You  asked  them  three  days  ago,"  he  said,  "and 
they  promised  to  be  here.  If  any  other  invitations 
have  come  to  them,  they  must  have  declined  them;  so 
that  to  tell  them  at  this  late  hour  that  you  would 
rather  go  somewhere  else  than  stay  here  and  receive 
them  is  a  thing  that  is  hardly  to  be  considered,  par- 
ticularly as  we  have  scarcely  seen  them  since  their 
return." 

"You  put  it  so  baldly.  I  am  sure  that  they  would 
understand." 

"At  all  events  we  will  not  take  the  chances  on  their 
failure  to  do  so." 

She  gave  him  a  quick  little  glance  and  decided  to 
change  her  tactics.  She  rose  and  stood  by  his  side, 
linking  her  arm  in  his,  and  pressing  close  against 
him. 

"  Roger  —  please ! "  she  whispered.  "  Don't  be  silly; 
I  do  so  want  to  go." 

He  neither  accepted  nor  repelled  her  caress.  He 
only  stood  looking  dumbly  at  her,  surprised  that  she 
should,  even  after  he  had  reminded  her,  still  wish  to 
show  this  discourtesy  to  the  two  people  who  had  most 
befriended  her  in  all  the  world. 

"I  am  sorry,"  he  replied,  at  length,  "but  it  is  impos- 
sible." 

She  turned  away,  and  again  he  was  conscious  of 
the  low  ground-swell  of  anger  rising  in  her.  She 

283 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

moved  across  the  room  to  her  writing-desk  and  opened 
it. 

"  Will  you  send  Susan  ? "  she  said,  icily,  over  her 
shoulder.  And  Roger,  feeling  himself  to  be  dismissed, 
like  a  child  who  has  behaved  itself  unseemly,  bowed 
and  left  the  room  in  silence. 


284 


CHAPTER  III 

A  DREAMER  OF  GOLDEN  DREAMS 

FROM  that  time  on  the  chasm  between  them  widened 
rapidly,  Marian  permitting  herself  a  coldness  toward 
him  that  even  Roger's  courtesy  —  which  was  of  the 
alert  and  cheerful  kind,  unfailing  in  its  chivalrous, 
Southern  expression  —  found  it  difficult  to  ignore. 
The  truth  was,  her  disappointment  with  regard  to  the 
Sullivan  dinner  was  twofold.  She  bitterly  regretted 
the  loss  of  what  she  considered  an  opportunity  in  the 
way  of  social  prestige,  as  the  event  was  one  to  which 
Rosalie  Raymond's  ready  pen  had  lent  a  unique  dis- 
tinction, the  amiable  sarcasm  of  the  brilliant,  high-born 
girl,  which  now  and  then  hit  the  mark  a  trifle  too 
surely,  especially  when  dealing  with  the  parvenu,  being 
something  that  Marian,  had  she  been  numbered  among 
the  guests,  would  have  welcomed  in  this  instance  as 
an  aid  in  the  direction  of  a  longed  for  personal  con- 
spicuousness.  But  she  was  most  of  all  disturbed  that 
she  was  frustrated  in  her  desire  to  see  again  Francis 
Waller.  Since  that  moment  at  the  fair  grounds  when 

285 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

he  had  tossed  her  the  rose  from  his  buttonhole,  he  had 
haunted  her  thoughts  persistently.  His  expression  had 
both  baffled  and  allured  her.  She  could  not  begin  to 
understand  it,  and  there  were  times  when  the  memory 
of  it  held  her  strangely  captive,  and  she  felt  those 
greenish  eyes  of  his  upon  her  conquering  her  as  by  a 
mesmeric  spell.  She  was  eager  to  match  her  wits  with 
his.  But  the  chance  was  denied  her.  He  left  in  a 
day  or  two,  and  the  next  she  heard  of  him  was  that  he 
was  spending  the  autumn  in  New  York. 

She  grew  restless  and  moody,  only  fitfully  interested 
in  the  life  about  her,  at  one  time  throwing  herself  with 
desperate  abandon  into  whatever  gaiety  the  place 
afforded,  and  almost  running  Roger  into  debt  to 
gratify  her  whim  for  a  number  of  new  and  costly 
gowns,  at  another  disdaining  everything  and  every- 
body while  she  spent  her  time  out-stretched  on  the  lounge 
in  her  bedroom,  skimming  the  pages  of  a  novel,  or 
gazing  idly  out  of  the  window.  As  October  came  on 
she  formed  a  resolution.  It  was  to  go  to  Cincinnati 
once  a  week  for  voice  culture  and  lessons  in  the  theory 
of  music.  She  had  already  studied  considerably,  under 
fairly  good  instruction,  and  formerly  she  had  seriously 
contemplated  the  stage  as  a  profession.  She  now 
thought  of  music  as  an  outlet. 

When  the  plan  was  proposed  to  Roger  he  had 
looked  blank  for  an  instant  and  seemed  to  hesitate. 

286 


DREAMER  OF  GOLDEN  DREAMS 

As  a  matter  of  fact  he  did  not  at  all  see  just  how  he 
was  going  to  gratify  her,  as  they  were  already  living 
up  to  the  last  penny  of  their  income,  but  he  only  said, 
with  quickly  attempted  cheerfulness: 

"I  —  I  think  I  can  accomplish  it,  Marian,  if  you 
want  to  go.  When  should  you  like  to  begin  ?  " 

"At  once,"  she  answered.  "I  shall  go  and  return 
in  the  same  day.  I  shall  not  mind  the  long  journey; 
it  will  be  much  pleasanter  than  staying  at  home  — 
and  cheaper,  after  all,  than  entertaining.  You  know 
I  told  you  that  I  thought  of  a  series  of  small  dinners. 
On  the  whole,  I  believe  I  prefer  to  study  music;  the 
life  here  begins  to  bore  me." 

And  so  weekly  she  made  her  pilgrimage,  returning 
every  Saturday  evening  a  little  pale  and  wearied,  yet 
pleased  at  the  praise  she  had  received,  for  her  voice 
was  developing  marvelously  under  the  skilful  training. 

Music  was  indeed  an  excellent  escape  for  the  varied, 
pent-up  emotions  within  her,  which,  since  her  marriage, 
had  been  steadily  gaining  in  intensity,  gathering 
toward  some  sort  of  outbreak,  like  hurrying  clouds, 
her  recent  apparent  quietude  being  but  the  lull  before 
the  storm.  With  amazing  energy  for  one  of  her 
tropical,  ease-loving  temperament  she  gave  herself  up 
to  the  work  assigned  to  her,  her  whole  being  pulsing 
and  vibrating  to  the  new  impulse  as  a  musical  in- 
strument whose  chords  have  been  sounded.  Her 

287 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

listlessness  seemed  to  fall  from  her  through  a  kind  of 
magical  influence;  and  Roger,  seeing  the  great  change 
in  her,  and  thankful  beyond  measure,  went  back  again 
with  a  freer  mind  to  his  law  books,  and  to  that  lonely 
life  of  the  spirit  in  which  she  could  have  no  share. 

Francis  Waller  was  almost  forgotten.  Sometimes, 
as  she  wandered  aimlessly  about  the  streets  of  Cin- 
cinnati, after  her  lessons  were  over,  the  possibility  of 
an  accidental  meeting  with  him  would  suggest  itself, 
startling  her  like  an  unexpected  flashlight,  and  her 
heart  would  give  a  wild,  exultant  leap  which  sent  the 
warm  blood  racing  through  her  veins.  She  had  not 
the  smallest  sense  of  shame  for  this  excitability  at  the 
bare  thought  of  him,  not  only  because  of  a  moral 
obtuseness  that  rendered  her  indifferent  to  many 
things  that  the  finer  order  of  woman  seeks  to  shield 
herself  from,  but  because  of  the  realization  of  the  utter 
hopelessness  of  her  present  situation  with  regard  to 
him;  so  that  she  had  come  to  look  upon  these  rare 
reminders  of  him  and  her  own  feeling  concerning 
them  as  something  merely  fanciful  and  romantic,  the 
effect  of  which  was  like  the  thrill  that  sometimes  came 
to  her  through  her  music,  or  when  reading  a  particu- 
larly luminous  paragraph.  She  wondered  why  she  had 
so  disturbed  herself  about  him  a  short  time  previous, 
and  was  even  a  little  amused  with  herself  for  having 
taken  the  loss  of  the  Sullivan  dinner  so  seriously. 

288 


DREAMER  OF  GOLDEN  DREAMS 

Had  she  expected  actually  to  meet  him  now  her  re- 
flections possibly  might  have  been  different.  But 
there  seemed  little  probability  of  this.  The  papers 
reported  him  as  deeply  absorbed  in  a  new  piece  of 
work,  nearing  completion,  which  was  not  to  appear, 
however,  before  the  following  midsummer,  the  effort 
being  pronounced  by  him  as  the  greatest  achievement 
he  had  thus  far  accomplished  —  a  form  of  expression 
invariably  employed  by  him  in  relation  to  his  latest 
book.  He  was  furthermore  described  as  living  very 
quietly  in  New  York,  where  he  had  gone  for  the  sake 
of  the  literary  atmosphere,  the  monotony  of  his  exist- 
ence being  unbroken  save  by  an  occasional  opera,  or 
dinner  to  his  friends.  He  himself,  it  was  said,  seldom 
accepted  an  invitation. 

Marian  had  just  been  reading  some  such  notice 
with  respect  to  him  in  a  periodical  containing  a  por- 
trait and  sketch  of  him.  Half  an  hour  before  she  had 
come  from  her  singing-master,  and  she  was  still  glow- 
ing under  his  approval.  As  she  emerged  from  the 
long,  tunnel-like  passage  leading  out  from  the  College 
of  Music,  she  had  stood  a  moment  debating  as  to  how 
she  should  spend  the  remaining  two  hours  before 
train  time.  It  was  a  dark  November  afternoon,  and 
the  Cincinnati  streets  were  muddy.  The  city  was 
even  grayer  and  more  cheerless  than  it  ordinarily  seemed 
to  her,  yet  no  outward  aspect  of  things  affected  her 

289 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

greatly  when  her  own  affairs  were  running  smoothly. 
She  was  to-day  in  excellent  spirits,  and  she  decided 
as  she  entered  a  car  that  she  would  spend  part  of  the 
time  in  a  book  shop,  among  the  magazines  and  the 
latest  fiction.  She  would  not  walk  much  on  account 
of  the  mud;  besides  she  was  a  little  tired.  Ah,  with 
what  fervor  had  she  sung  that  last  thing!  She  could 
see  that  Gionnanni  was  well  pleased,  though  as  yet 
he  was  not  quite  willing  to  admit  all  that  she  would 
like  to  hear.  Her  mind  was  still  full  of  his  comment 
when  she  entered  the  book  shop. 

She  had  been  there  some  time  when  suddenly  it 
occurred  to  her  that  she  had  had  no  luncheon.  With 
a  smile  at  her  own  absorption  she  was  turning  away 
from  the  heaps  of  books  and  magazines  of  all  kinds 
to  which  she  had  been  giving  a  desultory  attention 
when  her  glance  fell  upon  a  journal  of  literary  criticism 
that  thus  far  she  had  not  seen.  She  picked  it  up  and 
it  opened  at  the  sketch  referred  to. 

"I  will  take  this,"  she  said  to  a  clerk  a  moment 
afterward.  "No;  don't  wrap  it  up,  please."  Then 
she  paid  for  it  and  passed  out. 

Outside  the  fog  had  grown  denser,  and  the  tall 
buildings  muffled  in  an  icy  mist  gave  to  the  scene  a 
somberness  that  was  both  chilling  and  oppressive.  It 
was  but  little  more  than  two  o'clock,  yet  one  would 
have  said  that  it  was  nearer  five.  Electric  lights 

290 


DREAMER  OF  GOLDEN  DREAMS 

blazed  in  most  of  the  shop  windows,  and  Marian 
glanced  aside  from  time  to  time  when  the  display 
within  attracted  her.  Despite  the  dreariness  of  the 
weather  the  streets  were  crowded.  Men  and  women 
of  all  grades  passed  and  repassed  in  a  continual 
counter  current,  until  the  eye  became  wearied  and 
surveyed  the  throng  as  a  mere  aggregate,  its  char- 
acteristic features  being  lost  sight  of.  Yet  it  was 
most  distinctive;  and  save  for  an  occasional  soft 
Southern  accent  that  now  and  then  fell  upon  her  ears 
she  would  have  felt  herself  as  far  removed  from 
Kentucky  as  if  transplanted  across  the  continent,  the 
line  of  separation  made  by  the  Ohio  River  being 
far  wider  than  the  historic  stream  might  reasonably 
suggest. 

She  was  hurrying  along,  clutching  with  one  hand 
her  music  case  and  the  magazine  she  had  just  bought, 
and  with  the  other  her  umbrella,  when,  quite  suddenly, 
out  of  the  crowd  of  unknown  persons  approaching, 
a  face  stood  out  with  startling  clearness,  a  man's  face, 
one  instant  seen  and  then  lost  again  in  the  moving 
mass  of  humanity. 

She  gave  a  short  gasp  and  went  pale,  at  the  same 
moment  throwing  a  quick,  desperate  glance  around 
like  that  of  some  wild  thing  entrapped  and  seeking 
flight.  She  stood  stock  still  for  an  instant,  and  then 
involuntarily  drew  back  into  the  shadow  of  a  building. 

291 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

The  crowd  parted  slightly  again,  and  she  had  reassur- 
ance that  her  eyes  had  not  deceived  her. 

The  man  was  coming  nearer,  although  not  hasten- 
ing his  steps,  being  wholly  unconscious  of  her  prox- 
imity. He  was  notably  well  dressed,  his  clothing, 
however,  being  elegantly  unobtrusive,  and  he  was 
walking  with  that  air  of  half-insolent  self-absorption 
and  aloofness  with  which  the  individual  of  inferior 
order  of  genuis  often  seeks  to  augment  his  importance. 
Now  and  then  a  head  in  the  crowd  was  turned  for 
another  glance  at  the  distinguished  personage,  whose 
rapt  expression  gave  token  of  safety  from  detection. 
As  he  came  into  full  view  Marian  stepped  down  from 
her  hiding  place. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Waller?"  she  said. 

The  great  author  wheeled  briskly,  and  his  greenish 
eyes  flashed  a  look  of  surprised  inquiry  in  the  direc- 
tion whence  the  voice  had  proceeded.  Then  he  caught 
sight  of  Marian.  His  thin  skin  flushed  sensitively  as 
he  hurried  forward. 

"Ah,  this  is  as  delightful  as  it  is  unexpected!"  he 
exclaimed,  holding  out  his  hand.  His  gaze  searched 
her  face  curiously,  and  he  was  smiling,  a  peculiar, 
flattering,  cynical  look  that  was  at  the  same  time 
reserved  and  insinuating  showing  on  his  features. 
"What  brings  you  to  Cincinnati,  may  I  ask?" 

She  dropped  her  eyes  as  in  sudden  shyness.  Her 
292 


DREAMER  OF  GOLDEN  DREAMS 

heart  was  pounding  heavily  and  a  delicate  pink  was 
in  her  cheeks.  Her  whole  being  was  thrillingly  alive 
to  him,  and  he  knew  it.  "I  am  on  business  bent," 
she  answered  at  last.  "  I  come  here  every  Saturday  — 
for  lessons  in  music,  I  hasten  to  explain,  for  fear,  from 
the  appearance  of  this,  you  might  mistake  me  for  a 
magazine  agent." 

She  glanced  down  at  her  music  case,  and  his  eyes 
following  the  movement  fell  upon  the  literary  journal 
containing  the  portrait  and  sketch  of  himself.  He 
recognized  it  instantly,  and  a  quick  gleam  shot  from 
beneath  his  lowered  lashes,  but  he  made  no  comment. 
It  was,  however,  a  delicious  sop  to  his  vanity,  this 
silent  expression  of  her  interest  and  tribute  to  his 
distinction. 

"You  have  never  told  me  what  you  think  of  that 
last  book  of  mine,"  he  gently  chided,  his  expression 
becoming  more  admiring  and  less  whimsical.  The 
truth  was  there  was  no  surer  road  to  his  respectful 
notice  than  by  way  of  a  sympathetic  appreciation  of 
his  books.  Even  praise  the  most  fatuous,  if  sufficiently 
eulogistic,  was  always  cordially  welcomed  by  him 
and  received  with  the  gravity  of  one  who  took  himself 
far  too  seriously  ever  to  suspect  that  it  might  be  in 
any  degree  fulsome.  Adverse  criticism  threw  him  into 
a  rage,  which,  having  exhausted  its  fury,  was  apt  to 
simmer  down  into  a  melancholy,  plaintive  sort  of 

293 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

brooding  that  ultimately  took  on  form  and  an  ex- 
quisite beauty  of  expression,  being  finally  given  to 
the  world  in  the  wail  of  the  misunderstood.  Marian's 
adoring  attitude  toward  his  genius,  her  genuine  lik- 
ing for  the  artificiality  of  the  romanticist  point  of  view, 
which  the  unsoundness  of  her  own  nature  rendered 
peculiarly  appealing,  her  delight  in  his  glowing,  Ros- 
setti-like  phrases  and  warm  sensuousness  of  tone  caused 
her  to  take  on  a  value  in  his  eyes  which  otherwise  it 
would  have  been  impossible  for  her  to  attain. 

"Aren't  you  going  to  tell  me?"  he  insisted,  feeling 
no  hesitation  in  introducing  the  topic  at  once  as 
paramount. 

She  was  still  silent,  and  he  darted  a  quick,  suspicious 
glance  at  her. 

"  Ah,  you  didn't  like  it ! "  he  said,  withdrawing  from 
her  instantly,  and  with  a  gesture  that  was  both  depre- 
cating and  offended. 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  his.  For  a  moment  she  met 
his  gaze  with  something  of  her  old  effrontery  and 
dashing  irresponsibility,  but  she  could  not  quite  carry 
it  off.  Some  strange  power  in  the  man  seemed  to 
subdue  and  humble  her.  The  panther  in  her  was 
conquered  as  in  the  presence  of  a  keeper. 

"I  did  like  it,"  she  responded,  looking  away.  "I 
thought  it  —  I  think  it,  I  should  say,  for  I  almost  know 
it  by  heart  —  beautiful,  most  beautiful." 

294 


DREAMER  OF  GOLDEN  DREAMS 

"  And  yet  you  didn't  want  to  tell  me  so  ?  " 

His  tone  was  very  patient  and  encouraging.  Once 
more  he  was  beaming  upon  her. 

"  I  wanted  to,  but  I  couldn't,"  she  answered,  slowly. 

"But  why?" 

"For  one  thing,  I  thought  it  would  take  too  long; 
I  didn't  know  that  I  could  say  it  quite  so  concisely." 

"  You  said  it  gloriously ! "  he  replied.  He  pulled  out 
his  watch,  and  deliberated. 

"  Have  you  had  luncheon  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"No  — not  yet." 

"  Good !  Then  you  will  come  and  join  me.  We  are 
just  in  a  block  of  the  St.  Nicholas,  and  there  will  be 
abundance  of  time;  your  train  does  not  leave  until 
four." 

She  hesitated. 

"  Please  come,"  he  begged.  "  Think  how  dreary  life 
must  be  for  a  man  who  seldom  sits  down  to  a  table  with 
a  face  opposite  him,  and  be  merciful.  Let  me  know 
for  once  just  how  it  would  feel  to  look  up  and  meet 
those  eyes  of  yours  in  the  delightfully  intimate  com- 
panionship of  a  luncheon  table.  By  the  way,  they  are 
very  lovely  eyes.  Do  you  know  it?" 

She  laughed,  and  glowed  a  little,  and  consented. 
As  they  went  along  he  told  her  of  the  sister  upon  whom 
he  had  lavished  the  affection  of  his  boyhood  —  "  that 
purest  flame,"  he  called  it,  "  that  may  never  again  burn 

295 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

so  brightly."  He  spoke  touchingly  of  the  awful  grief 
that  had  swept  over  him  at  the  time  of  her  marriage, 
and  of  his  great  desolation  after  she  had  left  him.  It 
was  a  favorite  theme.  It  seldom  failed  to  evoke  femi- 
nine compassion,  and  feminine  compassion  was  some- 
thing that  he  would  have  found  it  quite  impossible  to 
exist  without,  the  role  of  the  unfortunate,  the  lonely, 
the  sad,  being  one  that  he  frequently  resorted  to. 

Marian,  though  not  by  nature  sympathetic,  was  duly 
impressed.  Her  ordinarily  keen  judgment,  which  was 
far  from  inclining  her  toward  the  sentimental  view,  for 
once  had  completely  failed  her.  Her  attitude  was  all 
that  he  could  have  wished  for.  There  was  a  sort  of 
suppressed  excitement  about  her  which  was  most 
flattering.  He  was  usually  disposed  to  be  somewhat 
critical  with  regard  to  womankind,  his  taste  being  the 
most  fastidious,  but  as  he  ushered  her  into  the  hotel, 
he  forbore  to  look  beyond  her  ripe  beauty  to  any  of 
the  flaws  which  his  own  sensitivity  was  apt  to  make 
him  acutely  alive  to.  Her  lack  of  breeding  seemed  to 
him  to  be  atoned  for  by  her  cleverness  and  her  vivid, 
florid  style,  which  in  itself  was  an  intoxication.  He 
thought  her  wondrously  beautiful,  altogether  the  most 
gorgeous  tropical  flower  he  had  seen  for  many  a  day. 

They  found  a  table  near  one  of  the  windows,  and 
Marian,  with  a  delicious  sense  of  luxury  stealing  over 
her,  leaned  back  in  her  chair  while  he  gave  his  order 

296 


DREAMER  OF  GOLDEN  DREAMS 

in  a  low  tone  to  the  waiter.  She  looked  idly  about  the 
room  as  she  slowly  drew  off  her  gloves.  It  was  com- 
fortably filled,  and  there,  was  a  subdued  hum  of  voices. 
The  softened  lights,  the  dainty  service,  the  cheerful 
camaraderie,  were  a  pleasant  contrast  to  the  dreary, 
darkening  streets.  Everything  was  quiet,  well-or- 
dered, elegant,  agreeable  to  the  senses.  Some  very 
polished  looking  people  were  lunching  at  the  table  next 
to  theirs,  evidently  a  mother  and  her  two  daughters. 
She  noticed  that  they  all  three  looked  up  and  spoke  as 
Francis  Waller  passed  them,  the  mother  with  extreme 
graciousness,  and  the  girls,  who  were  very  young  and 
shy,  with  a  sort  of  blushing  self-consciousness  that 
revealed  their  respect  for  the  august  presence  in  their 
neighborhood. 

He  ordered  an  elaborate  menu,  with  several  kinds 
of  wine.  He  was  fond  of  good  living,  a  fact  to  which 
his  increasing  avoirdupois  bore  painful  witness,  and 
he  was,  furthermore,  eager  to  show  a  special  courtesy. 
Marian  had  pleased  him. 

She  was  well  aware  of  it.  Already  the  thought  had 
warmed  her  through  and  through.  More  stimulating 
than  the  wines  he  offered,  the  realization  had  sent  a 
wild  thrill  through  her,  made  poignant  by  despair. 
Had  she  met  him  thus  but  one  little  year  earlier,  how 
different,  she  thought  bitterly,  would  her  fate  have 
been! 

297 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

The  repast  proceeded  slowly,  elegantly,  with  a  due 
regard  for  gastronomic  enjoyment,  and  with  a  certain 
light  and  evanescent  banter  more  frothy  than  whipped 
cream,  more  sparkling  than  champagne.  The  room 
was  nearly  empty  now.  The  gracious  matron  and  the 
two  young  girls  had  gone.  They  were  practically  alone 
when  he  leaned  toward  her  with  a  complete  change  of 
tone.  They  had  talked  of  his  books,  of  his  travels,  of 
himself,  but  not  once  had  he  made  even  an  indirect 
reference  to  her  marriage,  or  to  another  topic  which 
throughout  had  been  intruding  upon  her  thoughts  like 
a  child  tugging  at  her  skirts.  Could  it  be  that  he  had 
actually  forgotten  ? 

"Were  you  altogether  sure,"  he  asked,  looking  her 
full  in  the  eyes,  "that  I  did  not  know  you  when  I  met 
you  that  day  more  than  a  year  ago  ?  " 

She  started.  "  What  day  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  said, 
quickly,  fingering  her  wine-glass. 

He  gave  a  short  laugh.  "  Must  I  be  more  explicit  ? 
Or  did  the  incident  make  too  little  impression  to  be 
remembered?  Perhaps  it  will  refresh  your  memory 
to  say  that  you  were  driving  with  —  with  Mr.  Boiling, 
and  you  met  me  taking  a  stroll  not  far  from  the  Sullivan 
mansion.  It  was  just  a  few  months  before  your 
marriage.  Has  the  occurrence  escaped  your  recollec- 
tion?" 

"No." 

298 


DREAMER  OF  GOLDEN  DREAMS 

He  leaned  his  arms  upon  the  table  and  bent  forward. 
He  was  still  smiling,  and  his  eyes,  half  closed,  were 
riveted  upon  her;  a  gleam  like  the  flash  from  an  emerald 
darted  from  beneath  his  lowered  lids. 

"  Were  you  sure  ?  "  he  repeated. 

"  I  was  quite  sure." 

"Then  you  did  not  attribute  to  me  a  fine  bit  of 
acting  in  order  to  spare  the  situation?" 

"I  knew  that  it  was  not  acting." 

He  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed  softly.  "You 
were  right,"  he  answered,  presently,  very  slowly,  still 
watching  her  with  that  same  intent,  partly  cynical, 
partly  flattering  gaze,  "you  were  right;  it  was  not 
pretense.  I  was  sincerely  puzzled." 

"I  knew  that  you  were." 

"Shall  I  tell  you  the  reason?" 

She  glanced  toward  him  and,  instantly  withdrawing 
her  eyes,  bowed  faintly. 

"  You  give  me  permission  ?  "  His  manner  was  insin- 
uating, intimate,  the  expression  of  infinite  subtleties 
and  finer  shades  of  meaning  too  delicate  to  be  translated. 

She  waited,  breathing  quickly,  her  whole  being 
glowing  and  palpitating  in  his  presence.  Her  lips  were 
parted,  and  her  face  was  turned  to  his  like  a  sunflower 
toward  its  god.  She  was  silent  and  he  went  on  quickly, 
warming  to  her  allurement.  His  voice  dropped  to  a 
whisper. 

299 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

"  It  was  because  I  was  bewildered,  dazzled,  drunken 
at  the  first  draught:  your  beauty  was  too  strong  for  me; 
it  was  some  marvelous  mixture  in  a  golden  chalice 
such  as  one  of  the  old  vikings  might  have  quaffed  on 
returning  from  his  plunderings;  it  was  soft  and  undu- 
lating as  a  sun-kissed  wave  when  it  encircles  the  hardy 
swimmer;  it  was  enchantment,  it  was  rapture,  it  — 

He  stopped  short  and  caught  in  his  breath,  surprised 
at  his  own  vehemence.  He  was  not  accustomed  to 
make  love  so  violently,  if  indeed  it  could  be  said  of 
him  that  he  made  love  at  all.  His  tactics  with  women, 
married  or  unmarried,  as  a  rule  were  most  discreet. 
He  was  well  aware  that  what  he  had  said  was  almost 
a  burlesque;  yet,  such  was  his  capacity  of  simulating 
an  emotion  he  had  never  experienced,  the  thing  feigned 
at  once  took  on  reality.  It  was  not  difficult  now  to 
persuade  himself  that  the  momentary  pleasure  he  had 
felt  at  sight  of  a  beautiful  woman  had  meant  to  him 
all  that  he  had  described ;  his  own  words  had  completely 
captivated  him. 

"  But  you  had  my  photograph,"  she  said,  entranced. 

He  shook  his  head  sadly,  as  if  meaning  to  imply 
unutterable  things.  He  sat  twirling  his  glass  medita- 
tively. 

"  True;  I  had  your  photograph,"  he  replied,  at  length, 
"but  no  photographer  could  adequately  give  you.  I 
had  not  dreamed  that  you  were  half  so  lovely." 

300 


DREAMER  OF  GOLDEN  DREAMS 

She  put  up  her  hand  and  smoothed  a  stray  lock 
beneath  her  hat. 

"Still  it  might  have  been  sufficient  to  prove  my 
identity,  I  should  think,"  she  responded,  coquettishly, 
"that  is,  if  you  were  at  all  familiar  with  it." 

He  flushed  a  little  guiltily,  knowing  that  he  would 
have  been  sadly  straitened  if  called  upon  to  produce 
the  photograph  referred  to.  But  she  went  on,  her 
manner  becoming  all  at  once  embarrassed  and  shame- 
faced. 

"And  you  had  —  you  had  my  letters,"  she  said  in  a 
low  voice,  dropping  her  eyes  and  crimsoning  painfully. 

He  turned  quickly,  some  instinct  of  gentlemanly 
feeling  making  him  prompt  to  rescue  her  from  her  own 
mortification. 

"  Ah,  yes  —  those  letters ! "  he  responded,  softly,  in  a 
tone  of  tender,  impassioned  melancholy. 

"  They  should  have  helped  you  to  recognize  me." 

"  They  should  —  they  should ! "  he  cried,  plaintively 
and  humbly. 

The  return  of  the  waiter  at  this  moment  was  most 
opportune.  Though  the  subject  was  one  that  must 
have  inevitably  obtruded  itself,  having  furthermore 
been  almost  invited  by  him,  he  was  eager  to  be  done 
with  it,  fearing  at  any  instant  that  it  would  lead  him 
into  realms  where  it  were  safer  not  to  wander.  As  a 
matter  of  fact  his  recollections  with  respect  to  the  letters 

301 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

were  only  a  little  less  hazy  than  were  those  in  relation 
to  the  photograph.  He  only  recalled  them  as  the  fervid, 
almost  immodest  outpourings  of  a  woman  whom  he 
had  not  sought  and  had  never  even  seen,  which  several 
years  before  had  been  most  lavishly  bestowed  upon 
him.  He  was,  however,  in  the  habit  of  receiving  many 
such  effusions.  He  was  the  type  of  man  that  women 
as  a  rule  are  apt  to  care  for  and  men  not  unfrequently 
to  abhor,  though  he  was  capable  of  charming  both  on 
occasions.  The  revelation  of  himself  through  his  books 
had  brought  him  an  immense  circle  of  feminine  ac- 
quaintances into  whose  faces  he  had  never  looked,  but 
who,  nevertheless,  were  not  content  to  remain  strangers 
to  him.  At  first  he  had  kept  many  of  the  letters  that 
were  thus  sent  to  him,  the  adoration  that  they  breathed 
often  offering  a  healing  balm  to  wounds  inflicted  by 
less  gentle  critics.  Gradually,  however,  he  had  ceased 
to  do  this,  not  only  because  they  had  increased  in 
number,  with  the  publication  of  each  new  volume,  to 
such  an  extent  as  actually  to  become  a  burden,  but  for 
the  reason  that  their  oil  and  wine  no  longer  soothed: 
it  was  too  frequently  conveyed  to  him  through  the 
medium  of  inferior  English.  Le  mot  juste  was  as  much 
to  him  as  it  was  to  Flaubert. 

As  for  the  letters  sent  him  by  Marian  Day,  he  vaguely 
remembered  that  they  had  impressed  him  as  being 
slightly  above  the  average  in  composition,  but  by  no 

302 


DREAMER  OF  GOLDEN  DREAMS 

means  possessing  the  literary  quality.  Their  momen- 
tary attraction  for  him  had  been  due  to  the  intensity 
of  passionate  feeling  they  expressed,  the  reckless  aban- 
don with  which  the  author  yielded  herself  up  to  his  art 
and  to  himself.  There  were  just  ten  of  them  in  all. 
The  first  was  sent  anonymously,  but  in  such  a  manner 
as  to  make  it  possible  for  him  to  reply  to  it.  He  did 
reply  to  it,  quoting  to  himself  with  a  whimsical  smile 
these  words :  "  Women  want  to  be  deceived,  they  force 
you  to  it,  and  if  you  resist,  they  blame  you." 

But  soon  the  correspondence  bored  him  and  he  let 
it  come  to  naught,  her  last  letters  being  allowed  to 
remain  unanswered.  Yet  something  of  the  writer's 
potent  personality  had  throbbed  through  her  imperfect 
expression,  and  he  had  never  quite  forgotten  her.  He 
believed  her  to  be  very  much  in  love  with  him.  Most 
of  them  he  thought  were  more  or  less  fascinated,  but 
they  lacked  her  power,  her  superb  surrender.  It  had 
hurt  him  a  little  to  treat  her  so  shabbily,  and  he  had 
pictured  to  himself  the  maddening  humiliation  he 
had  inflicted,  with  a  sort  of  quiet  contemplation  that  was 
both  pitiful  and  sardonic.  Once  or  twice  afterwards 
he  had  even  thought  of  taking  up  the  matter  again, 
not  as  a  lover,  but  as  a  man  and  a  gentleman,  and 
with  the  intention  merely  of  removing  forever  from  her 
mind  the  impression  he  had  wrongfully  conveyed. 
Before  himself  he  posed  always  as  a  good  man.  It 

303 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

was  impossible  that  he  should  ever  stoop  to  selfishness 
or  unkindness;  and  it  seemed  to  him  very  noble  and 
high-minded  that  he  should  be  disturbing  himself 
about  an  acquaintance  of  this  kind,  solely  because  he 
might  have  misled  her  into  the  belief  that  he  was  really 
interested  in  her  in  the  way  that  she  desired.  He 
had  been  interested,  but  only  to  the  extent  of  allow- 
ing himself  to  be  worshiped.  It  is  a  romanticist's 
way. 

The  waiter  had  just  deposited  the  last  course.  As 
soon  as  he  had  retired  Francis  Waller  pulled  out  his 
watch.  "  This  has  been  very  delightful,"  he  exclaimed, 
"  and  I  thank  you  warmly,  but  I  mustn't  keep  you  here 
long  enough  to  make  you  miss  your  train,  else  Roger 
will  be  holding  me  accountable." 

He  looked  somewhat  ruefully  at  his  frozen  pudding. 
There  was  still  time  enough,  but  he  would  have  pre- 
ferred not  to  feel  hurried  —  that  is,  he  would  have  so 
felt  had  he  not  been  a  little  anxious.  He  feared  a 
return  to  the  subject  of  the  letters,  and  he  would  have 
been  willing  even  to  forego  a  favorite  dainty  rather 
than  have  another  reference  to  it.  But  in  his  nervous 
suggestion  as  to  the  hour  he  had  not  sufficiently  reckoned 
upon  Marian's  intrepidity. 

She  toyed  an  instant  with  the  rich  confection  before 
her,  then  she  raised  her  eyes  and  looked  him  squarely 
in  the  face. 

304 


DREAMER  OF  GOLDEN  DREAMS 

"  If  the  letters  were  so  much  to  you  —  as  much  as 
you  imply  —  why  did  you  not  respond  to  the  last  two 
I  sent  you  ?  " 

He  flinched,  but  recovered  himself  quickly.  He  did 
not  reply  at  once. 

"Ah,  but  there  was  a  reason,"  he  said,  slowly  and 
sorrowfully,  looking  down  at  his  plate. 

Her  eyes  were  glued  to  his  face.  There  had  been  a 
little  catch  in  her  voice  when  she  spoke  again,  and  her 
cheeks  were  scarlet.  His  sensitive  ear  detected  the 
quivering  note  of  appeal,  the  secret  clutching  after  a 
hope  too  long  deferred,  the  pitiful  effort  to  reestablish 
herself  and  win  back  what  had  seemed  to  be  lost.  He 
rose  heroically  to  the  occasion. 

"There  was  a  reason,"  he  repeated,  and  then  closed 
his  lips  decisively,  as  if  that  reason  were  one  that  they 
must  on  no  account  inquire  into. 

"I  should  like  you  to  tell  me  what  it  was,"  she 
insisted. 

He  looked  up.  "  Must  I  —  dare  I  ? "  he  asked 
hurriedly. 

She  leaned  toward  him  and  he  could  hear  her  breath 
coming  torn  and  in  little  gasps.  She  was  smiling 
softly,  and  her  whole  being  was  a  persuasion. 

"Yes!"  she  whispered,  "yes!" 

He  sank  back  in  his  chair  and  his  gaze  wandered  to 
the  window. 

305 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

"  Dear  lady,"  he  said,  presently,  "  you  must  already 
know  that  there  could  never  be  but  one  reason  why 
any  man  would  not  respond  to  you.  It  is  an  old,  old 
expedient,  the  shift  of  silence,  and  men  in  all  ages  have 
resorted  to  it,  when  circumstances  and  inclination 
clashed.  You  will  never  know  just  what  it  cost  me 
not  to  reply  to  those  letters." 

He  was  not  deliberately  deceiving;  far  from  it;  on 
the  contrary,  he  was  seldom  sincerer  in  his  life.  He 
had  simply  worked  himself  up  into  a  mood,  a  passion 
of  exalted,  tender  feeling  and  patient  renunciation,  and 
at  the  moment  he  meant  and  believed  every  word  he 
said.  However,  if  he  had  but  written  it  all  to  her  he 
would  have  done  far  better;  he  was  readier  with  the 
pen  than  with  the  tongue.  But  before  she  could 
answer  he  went  on  again  quickly: 

"  Ah, "  he  said,  sadly,  "  how  impossible  is  it  that  you 
should  understand!  you  who  have  never  done  any- 
thing in  the  way  of  creative  work,  how  can  you  even 
dimly  comprehend  the  awful  hold  that  art  takes  upon 
the  man  who  hears  within  his  own  soul  the  voice  of  a 
far-off  greatness — a  greatness  it  may  be  in  himself  or 
others  to  whom  '  God  whispers '  ?  Yet  always  he  hears 
it,  calling  to  him,  commanding  him  to  rise  up  and 
go  forth  like  Abraham  into  the  unknown,  to  leave  the 
darkness  of  idolatry,  of  materialism,  for  the  pure  light 
of  reason,  the  lofty  dreams  of  the  spirit.  Though  I 

306 


DREAMER  OF  GOLDEN  DREAMS 

dared  not  answer,  I  trust  that  much,  much  that  I 
would  have  said  to  you  if  I  could  was  in  the  little  book 
I  sent  to  you." 

Marian  rose,  snatching  up  her  gloves.  She  did  not 
meet  his  glance,  and  she  only  said,  gravely: 

"I  think  I  should  prefer  a  less  indirect  method  of 
expression.  Now  we  must  hurry,  hurry,  else  I  shall 
miss  my  train." 

But  he  knew  that  he  had  made  his  peace  with  her 
by  the  radiance  that  suddenly  overspread  her  features 
and  the  look  of  triumph  that  lingered  in  her  eyes. 

It  was  eleven  o'clock  of  the  same  evening,  and 
Francis  Waller  was  sitting  in  the  glow  of  his  library 
fire  smoking  a  cigar.  The  great  stone  structure  in 
the  suburbs  of  Cincinnati,  somber,  imposing,  beautiful, 
with  its  parklike  enclosure  of  evergreen  and  forest 
trees,  its  stately  furnishings,  works  of  art,  and  bric- 
a-brac,  had  been  opened  temporarily,  in  order  that 
the  distinguished  author  might  here  finish  the  closing 
scenes  of  his  latest  romance.  The  work  of  the  day 
had  been  somewhat  interrupted  by  his  meeting  with 
Marian,  and  since  dinner  he  had  been  going  over 
the  pages  written  in  the  forenoon  with  a  scholarly  and 
painstaking  exactness,  eliminating  a  sentence  now 
and  again  where  the  thought  seemed  crowded,  adding 
one  where  it  seemed  curtailed,  and  lending  to  the 

307 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

whole  those  exquisite  final  touches  that  only  the  artist 
born  knows  how  to  bestow,  and  that  ever  gave  to  his 
work  that  delicate  luminosity  which  constituted  its 
special  elegance  and  charm  of  style. 

He  was  now  feeling  a  trifle  wearied,  and  he  had 
drawn  a  comfortable  chair  up  in  front  of  the  blazing 
wood  fire  and  was  endeavoring  to  give  himself  up 
wholly  to  the  Dream  —  a  sort  of  luxurious,  fantastic 
state  of  mind  partly  induced  by  opiates  in  which  his 
thoughts  took  wing  and  floated  like  phantoms  in  an 
ethereal  realm,  the  lovely  ghosts  of  desires  never 
quite  real  enough  to  take  on  distinctive  form.  Here 
also  the  noblest  impulses  of  his  soul  —  and  he  too  had 
his  noble  impulses,  who  of  us  has  not  ?  —  wandered 
stillborn  or  abortive,  wailing  for  the  consummation  that 
was  denied  them  through  their  own  inherent  lack  of 
strength.  Like  many  of  his  predecessors  of  his  own 
peculiar  order  of  temperament,  the  Coleridges,  the 
Shelleys,  the  Poes,  the  Rossettis  of  the  world  —  those 
intensely  sensitive,  suffering  souls  to  whom  he  was  a 
brother  —  he  shrank  from  the  mere  pressure  of  life 
at  times  with  a  vehemence  that  indicated  acute  tor- 
ture; and  like  them  he  felt  driven  on  occasions  to  re- 
sort to  the  unwholesome,  factitious  aid  of  anodynes 
that  temporarily  gratified  and  soothed,  only  to  leave 
behind  an  increase  of  nervous  irritability  in  their 
after  effects  that  drove  him  well-nigh  to  distraction. 

308 


DREAMER  OF  GOLDEN  DREAMS 

Of  the  many  soft,  entrancing  visions,  thus  conjured, 
that  he  was  able  to  bring  before  him  in  heightened  at- 
tractiveness, one  stood  out  separate  and  flawless, 
clothed  in  the  ideality  of  a  poet's  fancy  and  tenderly 
beautiful.  This  it  was  that  took  precedence  over  all 
others,  excepting  his  dream  of  fame.  Nightly  at  this 
hour  it  came  drifting  down  to  him  out  of  a  white 
cloud-land  tipped  with  gold,  and  he  saw  her  glorious 
and  resplendent.  For  the  Dream  then  took  on  the 
image  of  a  woman,  and  that  woman  was  Sibyl  Fon- 
taine. 

It  was  this  devotion  to  something  afar  from  the 
sphere  of  his  sorrow  that  gave  to  his  existence  just  that 
fine  rounding  and  completing  that  seemed  to  him  to 
render  him  greater  both  as  an  artist  and  as  a  man. 
She  had  been  distinctly  a  selection  before  he  had  ever 
loved  her;  and  in  finally  exalting  her  to  the  supreme 
place  over  all  other  women  in  his  thoughts,  he  was 
by  no  means  unmindful  of  the  honor  he  conferred. 
The  fact  that  less  with  her  than  with  any  other  woman 
of  his  acquaintance  he  was  justified  in  the  assumption 
that  ultimately  he  should  be  successful  only  stimu- 
lated rather  than  deterred.  Others,  like  overhang- 
ing fruit,  had  dropped  too  easily  into  his  grasp;  she 
was  the  perfect  peach  upon  the  topmost  bough,  and 
only  the  dauntless  could  hope  to  reach  her.  She  would 
not  be  quickly  won.  One  must  strive  for  her,  and  wait 

309 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

for  her,  and  deserve  her,  he  well  knew.  Her  pride 
was  exquisite  to  him.  How  magnificent  to  see  it  bend 
to  him,  as  the  peach  to  the  daring  climber! 

Some  day  he  believed  that  it  would  bend  to  him. 
In  the  meantime  he  was  in  no  great  haste  to  wear  the 
shackles  of  matrimony.  Her  piquant  cleverness  would 
only  become  more  charming  as  the  years  went  by, 
being  tempered  by  an  increase  of  sympathy  as  life 
should  reveal  to  her  its  inmost  meaning;  and  the 
thirteen  years  or  more  between  them  would  gradually 
narrow  if  opportunity  were  given  her  to  develop  her 
mental  powers.  Although  he  had  already  made  known 
to  her  his  intentions  toward  her,  he  meant  to  give  her 
that  opportunity,  being  urged  to  the  effort  to  win  her 
more  securely  by  few  of  the  impulses  that  drive  men 
headlong  into  marriage.  It  is  true  that  he  loved  her; 
but  it  was  in  his  own  way,  and  that  way  was  of  the 
silent,  brooding  kind  that  offered  tribute  to  her  more 
in  the  fashion  of  a  poet  than  of  a  lover.  The  simple, 
straightforward  human  homage  of  the  man  who  seeks 
to  bind  to  himself  by  every  possible  tie  the  woman 
he  loves  that  he  may  possess  her  wholly,  was  a  thing 
unknown  to  him.  Yet  the  one  thing  on  earth,  aside 
from  his  art,  that  could  rouse  him  to  the  very  center 
of  his  being  was  the  dread,  the  actual  terror,  that 
sometimes  came  over  him  that  he  might  lose  her. 
The  thought  of  it  was  a  madness. 

310 


DREAMER  OF  GOLDEN  DREAMS 

And  it  was  this  perhaps  more  than  any  other  feeling 
that  in  the  main  kept  him  true  to  her.  For  his  loyalty 
to  her  seemed  to  make  her  his. 

But  to-night  he  was  disturbed  by  other  things. 

On  the  whole  he  regarded  the  experience  of  the 
afternoon  a  blunder,  just  as  the  correspondence  with 
Marian  had  also  been  a  blunder,  though  at  the  out- 
set the  affair  had  not  been  of  his  own  seeking.  It 
had  left  his  nerves  considerably  jarred;  and,  as  a 
result  of  the  realization  that  he  had  gone  further 
than  he  should  have  gone  with  a  married  woman  for 
whom  he  cared  not  a  penny,  he  was  in  that  state  of 
irritability  out  of  which  even  the  thought  of  Sibyl 
could  not  charm  him,  for  the  reason  that  it  hurt 
him  now  even  to  think  of  her  at  all.  It  was  not 
the  wrong  of  the  thing  that  troubled  him;  it  was 
his  disgust  that  the  imperfect  should  offer  him  ap- 
peal. 

Nevertheless,  Marian  had  attracted  him  strangely. 
As  his  thoughts  dwelt  upon  her,  sorely  against  his  will, 
to  the  exclusion  of  Sibyl,  she  seemed  like  some  glit- 
tering, beautiful  serpent  that  had  suddenly  trailed  across 
his  path,  fascinating  him  and  holding  him  spellbound. 
All  at  once  Roger  Boiling's  face  came  before  him.  He 
rose  and  began  to  move  up  and  down  the  room,  some 
sense  of  moral  obligation  as  between  man  and  man 
waking  and  stirring. 

311 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

Conscience,  or  the  thing  within  him  that  stood  for 
conscience,  though  ordinarily  dormant,  was  making 
him  decidedly  uncomfortable.  Despite  the  warmth, 
the  luxury,  the  beauty  all  about  him,  he  felt  forlorn 
and  wretched.  He  began  to  grow  angry,  just  as  if  all 
the  world  had  turned  against  him. 

Once  he  went  over  and  stood  before  the  fire,  look- 
ing down  into  the  writhing  flames.  Then  he  kicked 
the  logs  impatiently,  and  turning  away  began  his  slow 
march  up  and  down  the  room  again,  with  his  hands 
clasped  behind  him,  his  eyes  on  the  floor. 

It  was  long  past  midnight  before  he  flung  himself 
down  into  his  chair,  wearied,  more  miserable  than  he 
had  been  for  many  a  day,  and  in  that  overwrought, 
embittered  frame  of  mind  which  often  possessed  him 
for  no  more  obvious  reason  than  the  present  one,  and 
which  now  almost  invariably  sent  him  to  the  drug 
that  was  fast  gaining  a  hold  upon  him. 

To-night  he  was  in  no  mood  for  even  a  show  of  resist- 
ance; the  Dream  had  failed  to  bring  him  the  solace  it  so 
often  did  when  tired  from  a  hard  day's  work,  or  when 
badgered  by  the  critics;  Sibyl  also  had  turned  against 
him. 

He  sat  for  a  few  moments  looking  deeply  into  the 
fire.  The  old  reckless  disregard  of  consequences,  the 
dare-devil  spirit  that  rendered  him  savagely  defiant  of 
the  future,  thirstingly  alive  to  the  present,  began  to 

312 


DREAMER  OF  GOLDEN  DREAMS 

steal  over  him,  paralyzing  his  will.  Suddenly  with  a 
low,  demoniac  sort  of  laughter  he  threw  out  his  arms: 
he  had  given  up  the  struggle.  Then  he  rose  and  went 
back  to  his  morphine,  saying,  as  did  Coleridge  of  his 
laudanum,  "This  is  my  best  friend." 


313 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  FLIGHT 

"  Do  you  —  think  —  we  can  make  it  ?  " 

The  words  came  haltingly  and  in  a  smothered 
whisper,  as  Marian  turned  her  face  quickly  but  with- 
out checking  her  pace.  There  was  something  like  a 
sob  of  terror  in  her  voice. 

Francis  Waller  did  not  reply  for  an  instant.  The 
rapid  gait  at  which  they  were  proceeding  was  not 
conducive  to  conversation  and  he  was  almost  out  of 
breath. 

"It  is  just  barely  possible,"  he  said,  at  last,  not 
unmindful  of  his  dignity. 

Marian  clutched  his  arm  more  wildly,  and  dragged 
him  onward. 

"  Then  faster  —  faster  —  oh,  you  must  get  me  there ! " 

He  gave  a  troubled  glance  around,  but  no  carriage 
was  in  sight,  and  their  car  had  hurried  past  as  they 
issued  from  the  restaurant.  It  was  eight  o'clock  of  a 
raw  wintry  night  just  before  Christmas,  and  the  Cin- 
cinnati streets  were  thronged.  Marian  had  remained 

314 


THE    FLIGHT 

over  for  the  afternoon  performance  of  a  light  opera 
she  wished  to  hear,  and  afterwards  she  and  Waller  had 
dined  at  a  new  place  which  he  had  been  eager  to  make 
her  acquainted  with.  It  was  not  so  well  known  as  the 
St.  Nicholas,  and  for  that  reason  he  preferred  it  as  less 
likely  to  render  them  conspicuous.  He  was  beginning 
to  feel  self-conscious.  Since  that  first  accidental 
meeting  of  six  or  seven  weeks  before  she  had  haunted 
his  thoughts  persistently,  his  feeling  toward  her  being 
an  intricacy  of  emotions  difficult  to  disentangle,  like 
offshoots  from  a  vine.  The  parent  root,  however, 
was  to  be  found  in  an  extreme  of  vanity  which  she,  more 
than  any  other  woman  of  his  acquaintance,  knew  how 
successfully  to  pander  to.  Sibyl  Fontaine  had  never 
flattered  him.  Though  in  many  respects  she  had 
seemed  greatly  to  admire  his  work,  he  had  never  felt 
quite  satisfied  with  her  attitude  toward  it,  or  toward 
himself;  she  was  altogether  too  cheerfully  aloof  from 
that  little  sentimental  note  of  tenderly  persuasive 
melancholy  that  pervaded  everything  of  his,  and  that 
with  his  feminine  audience  as  a  rule  was  most  effect- 
ive. She  was  wholly  an  optimist,  albeit  the  most 
poetic-minded  woman  he  knew,  as  well  as  the  most 
cultured.  It  would  have  pleased  him  had  she  desired 
to  take  her  place  among  the  lowliest  of  his  worshipers ; 
and  had  she  done  this,  he  on  his  part  would  have  gladly 
reached  down  and  crowned  her  the  queen  of  them  all. 

315 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

The  picture  thus  presented  was  most  agreeable  to 
him. 

But  Sibyl's  natural  piquancy  and  healthfulness  of 
disposition  had  safely  rescued  her  from  all  such  abase- 
ment; and  there  were  times  when  the  serenity  of  her 
self-poise,  though  it  really  sounded  the  keynote  of  his 
profound  respect  for  her,  provoked  him  to  an  antago- 
nism through  the  mere  thought  of  it  that  sent  him  after 
a  totally  different  order  of  woman,  while  still  desiring 
her  above  all  others. 

Marian  had  offered  the  sharpest  contrast  possible  to 
the  delicate-minded  girl  of  his  dreams;  and  to  Marian 
he  had  turned  in  a  spirit  of  contrariety  and  of  wounded 
self-love,  after  Sibyl's  failure  to  take  the  smallest  notice 
of  his  latest  literary  venture.  She  had  ceased  to  be 
for  him  the  wife  of  another  man,  and  that  man  one 
whom  he  had  called  his  friend ;  she  was  merely  a  woman 
who  adored  him,  and  on  whom  he  was  beginning  to 
lean  for  a  sort  of  sympathy  that  he  believed  to  be  as  es- 
sential to  his  mental  existence  as  food  to  the  body.  He 
had  spent  a  part  of  every  day  with  her  that  she  had 
been  in  Cincinnati,  their  meetings  taking  on  a  certain 
clandestine  accent  that  to  his  taste  was  revolting,  but 
that  to  hers,  due  perhaps  to  some  secret  wantonness  of 
the  blood,  only  added  flavor. 

This  evening  they  had  been  more  than  ever  absorbed 
in  each  other,  and  the  time  had  flown.  Once  indeed 

316 


THE   FLIGHT 

he  had  taken  out  his  watch  and  glanced  casually  at  the 
hands.  They  pointed  to  twenty  minutes  after  seven. 
He  did  not  know  that  his  watch  had  stopped,  owing  to 
his  failure  to  wind  it  the  day  before  when  in  one  of 
those  abstracted  states  of  mind  that  he  was  prone  to. 

They  had  talked  on  and  on,  forgetful  of  the  passing 
moments,  when  Marian  had  suddenly  looked  down  at 
the  little  jeweled  timepiece  that  Roger  had  given  her 
which  she  wore  on  the  outside  of  her  maroon-colored 
silk  shirt  waist.  Her  face  went  pale. 

"  Horrors ! "  she  exclaimed,  jumping  up  and  gathering 
her  belongings  frantically  together.  "It  is  nearly 
eight.  What  on  earth  shall  I  do?  I  shall  miss  my 
train." 

He  pulled  out  his  watch,  stared  at  it,  held  it  to  his 
ear,  and  then  sprang  to  his  feet,  at  the  same  moment 
motioning  to  the  waiter.  He  turned  to  Marian.  "  We 
shall  have  to  run  for  it,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice. 

An  instant  afterward  he  had  thrust  a  sum  of  money 
into  the  out-stretched  hand  of  the  attendant  that  fairly 
set  the  head  of  that  functionary  a-whirliug,  and  mut- 
tering, "I  haven't  time  to  wait  for  the  change,"  he 
snatched  up  his  hat  and  Marian's  music  case,  flung 
his  overcoat  over  his  arm,  and  made  a  dash  for  the 
doorway,  whither  Marian  had  already  preceded  him. 

As  the  first  keen  blast  of  the  icy  outer  air,  heightened 
by  contrast  with  the  heated  atmosphere  of  the  room  he 

317 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

had  just  left,  smote  him  full  in  the  face,  he  drew  back 
as  from  an  uplifted  hand  raining  quick  blows  upon 
him,  and  struggled  into  his  overcoat.  His  heart  was 
pounding  heavily.  A  strange,  terrible  feeling  was 
beginning  to  creep  over  him.  His  throat  felt  dry  and 
parched.  There  was  a  steady  tramp  of  footsteps  past 
the  door,  but  he  looked  down  at  the  ground,  avoiding 
the  glance  of  the  moving  multitude  like  a  culprit. 
Marian  was  already  far  ahead,  fleeing  with  the  swiftness 
of  the  wind,  and  as  if  from  an  impending  danger. 
He  could  see  her  shadow  reflected  in  the  brilliantly 
lighted  street  now  and  then  when  the  crowd  parted. 

He  stood  a  moment  deliberating,  and  in  that  instant 
he  lost  sight  of  her  completely.  Once  he  lifted  his 
eyes  as  a  car  going  in  the  opposite  direction  from  the 
station  passed,  and  made  a  movement  toward  it.  But 
he  checked  the  impulse  to  hail  it.  A  sudden  dogged 
look  had  crept  into  his  eyes.  He  waited  an  instant 
longer  and  a  gleam  of  recklessness  and  defiance  shot 
from  under  his  half-closed  lids.  Then  he  turned  and 
sped  after  her. 

When  he  had  overtaken  her  he  offered  her  his  arm 
and  she  took  it  without  a  word.  They  hurried  on  not 
glancing  to  right  or  left.  He  had  the  collar  of  his 
overcoat  turned  up  and  he  had  drawn  on  his  gloves, 
but  her  fur  hung  loose  and  her  jacket  was  unfastened. 
Her  hand  against  his  arm  seemed  white  and  cold  as 

313 


marble.  She  was  panting,  and  her  face  when  he  now 
and  then  looked  into  it  as  they  passed  beneath  the 
glare  of  an  electric  light  startled  him  by  its  aspect. 
He  was  wondering  with  a  throb  of  selfish  anxiety  if  she 
were  not  going  to  faint,  when  she  raised  her  eyes  to  his 
and  made  the  eager  inquiry  to  which  he  had  been  able 
to  give  only  a  discouraging  response. 

Some  desperate  and  powerful  contention  seemed  to 
be  stirring  within  her  —  something  that  made  her  both 
shrink  from  him  and  cling  to  him.  She  kept  her  face 
averted  as  if  loath  to  meet  his  eyes,  and  he  could  feel, 
communicating  itself  to  him  like  a  shock  from  an 
electric  battery,  the  sudden  sharp  quivering  that  swept 
through  her  from  time  to  time  as  she  drew  back  from 
him  and  almost  dropped  his  arm.  But  her  hot  breath 
when  she  whispered  to  him  fluttered  against  his  cheek 
like  a  caress. 

He  bent  down  his  head  to  her.     "  Are  you  very  tired  ?  " 

"No." 

"  Aren't  we  walking  too  fast  for  you  ?  " 

"No  —  no;  we  must  hurry." 

"  I  am  quite  sure  that  we  cannot  reach  the  station  in 
time,  and  the  exertion  may  make  you  ill." 

She  laughed.  "I  am  such  a  fragile  creature!" 
Then  she  added  with  that  same  half-terrified  recoil 
from  him  that  he  had  already  noticed,  "  it  —  it  is  not 
the  exertion." 

319 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

He  did  not  answer  for  a  moment,  but  his  face  was 
as  white  as  hers  as  he  bent  toward  her  again,  and  his 
heart  was  beating  wildly.  "You  are  frightened?"  he 
asked  low  under  his  breath. 

"Yes."  The  monosyllable  fell  from  her  lips  in  a 
kind  of  mingled  challenge  and  appeal. 

"But  we  are  nearly  there  now." 

"We  may  be  too  late." 

"And  then  —  ?" 

She  gave  a  short,  stifled  cry  and  broke  away  from 
him,  quickening  her  steps.  A  carriage  bowled  by 
containing  two  people  muffled  in  evening  wraps,  a 
middle-aged  woman  and  a  young  girl.  As  the  vehicle 
passed,  an  electric  light  shone  full  upon  its  occupants, 
and  Waller  recognized  them.  They  were  the  mother 
and  the  elder  of  the  two  daughters  who  had  sat  at  the 
lunch  table  next  to  him  and  Marian  at  the  St.  Nicholas 
weeks  before. 

He  drew  back  quickly  into  the  shadow,  not  wishing 
to  be  seen  by  them  with  Marian,  partly  through  a 
sense  of  guilt  that  he  had  always  when  with  her,  and 
that  made  him  wish  to  avoid  observation,  and  partly 
because  of  an  innately  snobbish  feeling  that  inclined 
him  to  attach  an  undue  valuation  to  the  opinion  of 
these  two  particular  persons,  for  no  other  reason  save 
that  they  happened  to  be  important  in  the  social 
world  in  which  he  moved.  He  seemed  to  know  in- 

320 


THE   FLIGHT 

tuitively  that  Marian  was  not  the  sort  of  person  they 
would  admire.  He  was  not  a  gentleman  in  the  sense 
that  Roger  Boiling  was  a  gentleman. 

However,  his  embarrassment  was  short-lived.  The 
carriage  disappeared,  and  once  more  the  tremendous 
power  of  the  woman,  rendered  far  more  persuasive 
by  her  genuine,  momentary  reluctance,  reasserted 
itself,  dominating  him  completely.  All  sense  of  per- 
sonal responsibility  was  slipping  away  from  him: 
nature  in  that  instant  appeared  supreme,  and  life 
became  purposeless,  rudderless. 

They  had  reached  the  station.  He  stood  aside  for 
her  to  enter,  and  then  they  both  rushed  headlong 
down  below  into  the  long  cavernous  enclosure  whence 
the  trains  go  forth.  An  ominous  stillness  pervaded 
the  place.  It  was  dismal  and  shadowy,  the  remote 
corners  being  rendered  particularly  somber  by  con- 
trast with  the  lighted  spaces  here  and  there.  It  was 
quite  deserted.  In  the  distance  a  cloud  of  smoke 
trailed  above  the  track,  and  a  steady,  rumbling  sound 
fell  upon  the  ear.  The  man  at  the  gates  was  turning 
away.  Waller  hastened  up  to  him. 

"What  train  was  that  that  just  went  out?"  he 
demanded. 

"Q  and  C  special,"  answered  the  man,  laconically, 
as  he  moved  past. 

Waller  and  Marian  stood  perfectly  still. 
321 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

The  man  suddenly  paused  and  threw  them  an  in- 
different glance  over  his  shoulder. 

"Wuz  you  aimin'  to  go  on  that  train?" 

Waller  nodded. 

"Just  missed  it,  mister;  there  she  goes  now,"  re- 
sponded the  man,  cheerfully,  as  he  disappeared  within 
a  doorway. 

The  two  still  stood  motionless.     Neither  spoke. 

At  length  Marian  moved  away  a  step  or  two.  "I 
must  send  a  telegram,"  she  said,  without  meeting  his 
eyes. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  shortly. 

They  went  slowly  up  the  flight  of  steps  leading  into 
the  general  waiting-room,  and  he  went  for  some  tele- 
graph blanks. 

"  Have  you  —  have  you  any  relatives  or  friends 
living  in  Cincinnati  ? "  he  asked  when  he  returned. 
He  was  conscious  that  he  was  putting  the  question  to 
her  as  a  mere  form,  and  that  he  was  but  toying  with  his 
destiny,  which,  fixed  and  resolute,  would  not  alter 
now  for  the  sake  of  an  evasion. 

She  sat  down  on  one  of  the  long  wooden  benches 
with  their  many  chair-shaped  divisions  that  stretched 
across  the  room,  and  put  the  pad  he  had  brought  her 
on  her  knee. 

"I  have  no  relatives  here,"  she  answered  in  a  very 
low  voice.  "I  had  a  friend  —  she  left  to-day." 

322 


Then  she  wrote:  "Missed  my  train.  Am  with 
Minnie  Werner." 

It  was  addressed  to  Roger  Boiling,  and  the  words 
were  barely  legible,  her  hand  was  trembling  so.  She 
held  the  slip  of  paper  up  for  Waller  to  read. 

"Who  is  this  person?"  he  asked,  glancing  quickly 
at  her. 

"  My  friend  who  left  to-day." 

He  rose  and  crossed  the  room,  handing  the  message 
to  the  clerk  at  a  desk  at  the  far  end.  Then  he  re- 
turned to  her. 

"I  was  expecting  my  sister  from  New  York  to  be 
with  me  this  evening,"  he  said,  "and  the  servants  at 
my  home  were  duly  notified.  I  forgot  to  inform  them, 
however,  of  her  change  of  plans  disclosed  in  a  letter 
received  from  her  at  noon.  She  has  not  been  here 
for  many  years,  and  no  one  now  living  with  me  has 
ever  seen  her.  I  will  find  a  special  feast  prepared  in 
her  honor  and  everything  in  readiness." 

He  spoke  in  a  quiet,  entirely  matter-of-fact  tone, 
with  his  eyes  on  the  loud-ticking  clock  high  up  on  the 
wall  opposite. 

She  was  sitting  with  her  hands  tightly  clasped  in  her 
lap  and  her  head  bowed. 

She  grew  a  shade  whiter,  but  she  did  not  move  nor 
speak. 

He  gave  a  quick  glance  around ;  then  he  bent  over  her, 
323 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

his  face  wild  and  haggard.  "I  think  I  can  make  you 
entirely  comfortable,"  he  said. 

She  struggled  to  her  feet.  There  was  a  moment's 
uncertainty,  and  he  watched  her  narrowly.  The 
room  seemed  to  swim  before  her  and  she  reached  back 
and  grasped  the  round  of  the  bench  as  if  to  steady 
herself.  There  was  a  sound  in  her  ears  as  of  a  great 
bell  deeply  tolling  the  death-knell  of  all  that  she  was 
about  to  renounce.  The  moral  law  within  her,  though 
usually  a  voice  that  was  barely  audible  and  seldom 
regarded,  was  clamoring  now,  but  more  as  a  solemn 
affirmation  than  as  a  warning.  It  was  too  late  for 
admonition;  too  late  to  retreat.  With  a  woman  of 
her  temperament  the  final  result  had  been  foreshadowed 
in  the  first  yielding.  Afterwards  she  was  as  powerless 
against  the  storm  of  feeling  that  bore  down  upon  her 
as  a  mere  shanty  in  the  sweep  of  a  tornado.  Her 
doom  had  been  already  pronounced.  She  could  see 
nothing  left  her  but  to  accept  it;  and  in  thus  yielding 
herself  up  to  it  there  came  a  moment  of  lull  followed 
by  a  thrill  of  desperate,  ecstatic  joy  in  which  the  last 
murmuring  of  conscience  was  forever  silenced. 

She  slowly  turned  and  raised  her  eyes  to  his;  and  as 
she  did  so  there  came  a  warm  surge  of  crimson  into  her 
cheeks,  and  with  it  a  sudden  rekindling  and  mighty 
stirring  of  all  her  powers  that  transformed  her  strangely, 
and  lent  a  wild  energy  to  the  delirium  that  was  driving 

324 


THE   FLIGHT 

them  both  headlong  like  the  mad  impulse  given  a 
forest-fire  by  a  swift,  onrushing  wind.  She  was  superb 
in  the  might  of  her  decision  and  in  the  completeness 
of  her  surrender;  and  under  the  tremendous  sweep  of 
the  passions  that  swayed  her  she  seemed  for  the  instant 
to  be  lifted  out  of  the  sphere  of  vulgar,  or  merely  conj- 
monplace,  evil,  and  to  take  on  a  certain  largeness  of 
attitude  and  of  proportions  that  made  her  seem  a  being 
of  terrible,  almost  unearthly  strength  and  beauty,  a 
goddess  deigning  to  bestow  herself  upon  mortal  man. 

He  saw  the  change  in  her  and  his  brain  reeled. 
Quick  as  a  flash  of  lightning,  response  leaped  from  his 
eyes  to  hers.  He  made  an  involuntary  movement 
toward  her,  bent  down  his  head  and  spoke  a  few  short, 
unsteady,  half-inarticulate  words  in  her  ear.  He  stood 
a  moment.  Then  he  turned,  and  without  replying  she 
followed  him  out  of  the  close,  brilliantly  lighted  building 
into  the  chill  and  darkness  of  the  street. 

It  was  beginning  to  snow,  and  the  icy  flakes  shot  like 
well-aimed  pebbles  into  her  face,  clung  to  her  garments, 
and  glistened  jewel-like  on  her  long  fur  boa.  She 
dashed  them  off  with  an  odd  laugh,  and  stood  aside 
while  he  went  to  call  a  carriage,  her  eyes,  gleaming  like 
oriental  stars,  following  his  every  movement,  and  finally 
riveted  upon  the  dark  figure,  as  he  hurried  back  to  her, 
in  an  intensity  of  unbridled  feeling  that  urged  him 
onward  and  ever  onward  to  the  very  brink  of  the 

325 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

precipice  whereon  she  waited  with  eager,  out-stretched 
arms. 

His  manner  had  lost  its  customary  deliberateness. 
He  was  desperately  agitated.  His  eyes  were  bloodshot, 
and  his  face,  furrowed,  stern,  even  forbidding  in  its 
pallor,  was  kept  resolutely  from  her,  as  if  he  mistrusted 
even  the  small  grasp  upon  himself  he  still  retained  and 
dared  not  meet  her  gaze.  She  felt  the  violent  trem- 
bling of  his  arm  against  her  own  when  he  assisted  her 
into  the  carriage,  and  as  she  leaned  for  a  moment 
against  him  she  knew  that  he  was  shaken  to  the  very 
foundations  of  his  being  by  the  thing  he  was  about  to 
do. 

Yet  there  was  that  in  her  audacity  which  appealed 
powerfully  to  his  somewhat  timorous  disposition;  and 
in  the  instant  that  he  took  his  seat  beside  her  she 
realized  with  a  thrill  of  exultation  that  was  deep  and 
frenzied  and  diabolic  in  its  unholy  joy  that  the  very 
climax  of  her  sway  over  him  had  been  reached  when, 
obeying  the  imperious  summons  of  a  newly  aroused 
emotion,  he  flung  morality  and  convention  to  the 
winds,  closed  the  carriage  door  upon  them,  and  aban- 
doned himself  to  all  the  consequences  of  his  rash  and 
fatal  step. 

Neither  spoke  as  they  were  borne  rapidly  along 
through  the  crowded  city  streets.  Now  and  then  an 
electric  light  flashing  full  in  their  faces  showed  her  the 

326 


THE    FLIGHT 

elegant,  distinguished  figure  at  her  side  muffled  in  the 
heavy  overcoat  dumb  and  motionless  —  otherwise  she 
might  readily  have  believed  herself  to  be  alone.  He 
was  gazing  fixedly  out  of  the  carriage  window,  the  one 
on  his  side,  and  she  saw  only  imperfectly  the  clean  cut 
of  his  auburn  beard,  the  sensitive  outline  of  his  thought- 
ful, scholarly  profile,  her  eye  being  caught  and  held  by 
the  glassy  stare  that  gave  immobility  to  his  features. 

But  the  meaning  of  his  absorption  was  something  she 
could  define;  and  it  was  with  a  feeling  half  pitying  and 
wholly  undisturbed  that  she  found  herself  following 
him  into  those  gray  regions  of  false  philosophy  wherein 
the  romanticist,  forsaking  his  realm  of  ether,  becomes 
the  rankest  of  realists  and,  in  his  desire  for  self-justifi- 
cation and  in  his  despondency,  shrieks  a  bitter  protest 
against  restriction,  and  clamors  for  nature's  rights. 

For  her  there  had  come  not  an  instant  of  wavering. 
Her  resolution  once  taken  had  been  final  and  irrevo- 
cable. "  Magnificent  in  sin,"  she  stood  conscienceless, 
deliberate,  defiant,  daring  to  look  the  thing  straight 
in  the  face,  invoking  to  her  aid  neither  sophistry  nor 
delusion,  caring  to  appease  neither  God  nor  man,  and 
seeking  in  the  future  they  were  thus  darkly  entering 
upon  no  protection  for  herself  but  the  splendid  armor 
of  his  love. 

But  if  she  were  minded  to  play  the  part  of  Clytem- 
nestra,  that  of  ^Egisthus  was  by  no  means  to  his  liking; 

327 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

and  one  moment  he  was  torn  by  a  recognition  of  what 
his  madness  surely  would  cost  him,  another  engulfed 
beneath  the  waves  of  passion  that  her  yielding  had 
called  forth  —  passion  that  hitherto  had  been  with  him 
more  a  thing  to  dream  of  than  to  be  actually  indulged 
in,  the  melancholy  of  the  unattainable  being  always 
preferable  to  the  ennui  that  in  his  case  inevitably  fol- 
lowed upon  fulfilment.  Such  a  catastrophe  as  he  had 
been  drawn  into  would  have  seemed  to  him  a  year 
before  wholly  beyond  the  bounds  of  possibility.  But 
the  drug  he  was  in  the  habit  of  taking  had  weakened 
his  will  and  developed  in  him  that  tendency  to  skep- 
ticism which  gave  pronouncement  to  his  attitude  of 
life,  an  attitude  of  rebellion  wherein  the  more  discerning 
saw  ever  foreshadowed  in  the  philosopher  and  the 
moralist  the  cynic  and  the  sensualist  —  whatever 
contradiction  his  writings  or  his  mode  of  conduct 
might  show. 

A  dread  of  the  scorn  of  his  fellow-beings,  before 
whom  he  had  posed  always  as  a  respecter  of  law, 
rather  than  any  profound  sense  of  outrage  against  the 
social  structure,  which,  to  the  extent  of  his  act,  he  was 
about  to  undermine,  made  the  plunge  he  had  just 
taken  startlingly  sobering.  A  cold  perspiration  stood 
out  on  his  brow,  and  his  face  was  hard  and  set. 

Self-conscious  by  nature,  the  situation  was  one  at 
which  he  revolted,  without,  however,  any  thought  of 

328 


THE    FLIGHT 

escape.  Clotho  and  Lachesis  had  spun  a  strange 
garment  of  his  destiny,  and  Atropos  belike  was  already 
approaching  with  her  shears.  What  mattered  it? 
Life  had  not  been  so  sweet  a  thing  to  him  that  he 
should  whine  and  cower  at  the  thought  of  death.  But 
he  was  too  fond  of  his  own  ease,  and  of  his  own  incli- 
nation, too  impatient  of  any  disturbance  that  intruded 
upon  his  art,  not  to  feel  an  instinctive  shrinking  from 
the  future  before  him  —  if  there  were  to  be  any  future. 
However,  a  bullet  from  Roger  Boiling's  revolver  might 
end  the  business,  he  reflected,  with  a  sort  of  grim 
humor,  as  he  sat  wrapped  in  a  moody  silence  into 
which  Marian's  ready  intuition  forbade  her  to  venture. 
She  leaned  far  back  in  the  corner  of  the  carriage, 
and  closed  her  eyes.  Now  and  then  a  slow  smile 
played  about  her  lips;  otherwise  her  face  was  white 
and  still  as  a  statue's.  But  though  she  was  aware  of 
much  of  which  he  was  thinking,  it  caused  her  no 
alarm  that  even  in  these  first  moments  of  bestowment 
he  should  appear  strangely  lacking  in  tenderness  and 
thoughtfulness  toward  her.  Genius,  it  seemed  to  her, 
was  not  to  be  tried  by  ordinary  human  standards;  and 
the  proof  of  his  love  for  her  was  in  his  presence  by  her 
side.  Her  faith  in  herself  had  been  given  a  new  and 
powerful  stimulus,  and  under  the  intoxicant  of  his 
capitulation,  she  fancied  that  she  knew  him  through 
and  through,  and  had  little  dread  that  his  present 

329 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

mood  would  not  pass.  There  was  something  soothing 
in  the  steady  roll  of  the  vehicle,  and  she  kept  her  eyes 
closed  for  a  long  time. 

When  she  opened  them  again  they  were  quite  out 
in  the  suburbs,  and  she  was  conscious  of  a  calm  white 
light  over  everything,  and  a  sense  of  nearing  their 
destination.  A  heavy  snow  lay  on  the  ground,  and  it 
gave  a  weird  distinctness  to  the  objects  they  passed. 
Some  of  the  homes  were  stately  and  beautiful,  and  she 
felt  the  little  envious  pang  that  always  came  to  her  at 
the  sight  of  luxury. 

All  at  once  her  heart  gave  a  wild,  exultant  leap,  and 
she  turned  and  looked  steadily  at  Waller.  At  the  same 
instant  the  carriage  paused,  and  there  was  a  brief 
waiting,  and  they  turned  into  a  wide  gateway  and  were 
borne  noiselessly  up  a  long  avenue  flanked  with  ghostly 
trees,  in  the  direction  of  a  great  stone  building  from 
whose  many  windows  lights  twinkled  like  glow-worms 
in  the  darkness.  Then  the  vehicle  came  to  a  standstill, 
and  they  got  out,  and  Waller  dismissed  it. 

The  two  stood  alone  on  the  snow-covered  terrace. 
Like  a  phantom  coach  the  carriage  moved  along  the 
tortuous  driveway  and  faded  into  the  night,  long  white 
spectral  arms  seeming  to  clutch  at  it  as  it  passed. 
There  was  a  vast  silence  all  about  them,  as  if  even 
nature  waited  breathless  for  the  next  act  in  their  poor 
tragedy.  It  was  not  snowing  now,  and  it  had  grown 

330 


THE   FLIGHT 

clearer  and  much  colder.  A  full-orbed  moon  was  just 
visible  above  the  evergreens  that  stood  on  a  little  knoll 
to  the  rear  of  the  building,  and  its  light  fell  softly  upon 
Marian's  upturned  face  and  gleamed  upon  her  heavy 
twists  of  gold-brown  hair.  Her  fur  hung  loose,  as  if 
she  were  unmindful  of  the  cold,  and  her  breath  came 
hot  and  tumultuous. 

Something  that  the  moonlight  brought  out  in  her 
aspect,  the  sense  of  her  utter  aloneness,  and  of  her 
abandonment  to  his  mercy,  the  poetic  stillness  and 
crystal  beauty  of  the  winter  night,  stirred  the  heart  of 
Waller  to  a  sort  of  universal  compassion,  an  extrava- 
gance of  tenderness  such  as  he  frequently  worked 
himself  up  into  in  composition,  and  which  in  this 
moment  was  startling  even  to  himself  in  the  effect  it 
produced  upon  him. 

For  an  instant  his  resolution  was  shaken.  He  looked 
quickly  at  her,  drew  back  a  step  or  two,  muttering 
something  under  his  breath  she  could  not  catch;  and 
then,  as  she  raised  her  astonished  eyes  to  his,  he 
broke  into  a  torrent  of  rapid,  incoherent  speech  from 
which  she  could  gain  little  save  that  he  was  a  man 
crazed,  beside  himself  with  conflicting  emotion,  and 
that  he  was  offering  her,  even  yet,  the  opportunity  of 
retreat. 

She  stood  staring  dumbly  at  him,  her  expression 
wild  and  strained,  her  form  motionless.  Suddenly, 

331 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

without  a  word  she  turned  and  moved  quickly  away 
from  him  down  the  avenue. 

He  remained  perfectly  still.  His  face  had  grown 
haggard  and  desperate,  the  momentary  softening  of  his 
features  yielding  to  lines  of  age,  and  of  fretfulness,  and 
of  a  sort  of  dogged  defiance  that  gave  him  the  look  of 
an  animal  at  bay.  And  still  the  tall  figure  moved 
steadily  onward,  and  still  he  did  not  stir. 

All  at  once  she  turned  and  began  to  retrace  her 
steps,  walking  slowly,  humbly,  with  bowed  head,  like 
a  queen  dethroned.  He  started  violently,  awoke  from 
his  trance,  and  a  look  of  cunning  overspread  his 
features  as  of  pride  in  his  own  mastery.  An  instant 
afterward  a  sense  of  chivalry  replaced  the  baser  feeling, 
and  then  the  storm  of  passion  shook  him,  and  the  old 
reckless  light  leaped  from  his  eyes  as  he  rushed  to 
meet  her  with  out-stretched  arms. 

With  a  stifled  cry  she  sank  into  them,  and  he  strained 
her  to  him,  smothering,  blinding  her  with  hard,  fierce 
kisses.  With  his  arm  still  about  her  they  moved 
slowly  along  the  terrace  and  up  the  flight  of  steps. 
Just  before  he  touched  the  doorbell,  again  he  bent 
down  his  head  and  kissed  her,  and  a  low  laugh  broke 
from  her  and  rang  out  like  a  chime  of  silver  bells  upon 
the  frosty  air. 

A  moment  afterward  the  door  opened  to  his  summons, 
and  together  they  entered  the  brightly  lighted  hall. 

332 


CHAPTER  V 

A  LETTER 

IT  was  seven  o'clock  of  an  evening  five  days 
later. 

A  few  moments  before,  Roger  had  risen  after  a  soli- 
tary dinner  and  had  wandered  into  the  library.  Here 
a  blithesome  fire  leaped  on  the  hearth,  and  James  had 
drawn  the  table  up  and  brought  the  reading  lamp,  a 
great  chair  being  placed  with  loving  care  beside  it, 
and  in  precisely  the  position  that  would  enable  the 
light  to  fall  most  comfortably.  Other  men  might 
not  be  heroes  to  their  valets,  but  to  James,  Roger  was 
always  a  prince  whom  it  was  a  delight  to  serve.  To- 
night, a  particularly  inviting  meal  had  been  prepared 
as  a  solace  to  loneliness.  But  the  young  master  had 
seemed  little  inclined  to  enjoy  it,  and  the  slim  figure 
had  soon  risen  from  the  table  leaving  the  food  almost 
untasted.  However,  if  he  would  not  eat,  possibly  he 
might  read,  and  James,  anticipating  the  contingency, 
had  been,  as  usual,  well  prepared  for  it,  though  mar- 
veling much  within  himself  that  there  should  actually 

333 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

be  a  person  so  constituted  as  to  display  such  benighted 
preference. 

But  Roger  was  scarcely  more  in  the  mood  for  a 
mental  feast  than  for  a  material  one.  A  number  of 
books  and  magazines,  and  also  several  newspapers, 
lay  on  the  table;  and  his  glance  rested  upon  these 
last  with  a  vague  sense  of  losing  touch  with  current 
events,  but  he  forbore  to  take  one  up.  With  a  pre- 
occupation that  seemed  to  render  him  an  instant  after- 
wards wholly  oblivious  of  his  surroundings,  he  had 
flung  himself  into  the  armchair  before  the  fire,  and  sat 
leaning  on  his  elbow,  thinking  hard. 

Marian  had  completely  baffled  him.  There  had 
come  two  telegrams,  to  be  sure,  but  the  second  was  as 
coolly  noncommittal  as  the  first  with  reference  to  her 
return.  He  had  expected  her  on  the  Monday  previous 
and  had  gone  twice  to  the  train  to  meet  her.  On  the 
day  following  he  had  also  gone.  It  was  now  Thursday 
and  there  had  come  nothing  further  from  her. 

He  was  as  completely  in  the  dark  as  to  her  plans 
as  if  he  were  the  veriest  stranger.  By  the  merest 
accident  he  was  able  to  assure  himself  of  the  existence 
of  the  Minnie  Werner  her  earlier  telegram  mentioned. 
He  knew  her  to  be  an  artist  friend  whom  Marian  had 
visited  just  before  coming  to  the  Caldwells  a  year  and 
a  half  before,  and  there  was  a  photograph  somewhere 
in  Marian's  bed-chamber  with  the  name,  M.  Werner, 

334 


A   LETTER 

upon  it  which  he  had  one  day  picked  up  at  random 
during  one  of  their  painful  conferences,  while  Marian 
yawned  and  trailed  her  rose-colored  negligee  about 
the  room  in  undisguised  impatience,  and  treated  him 
as  an  intruder.  But  he  had  the  impression  that  the 
girl  was  herself  a  stranger  in  Cincinnati,  and  practi- , 
cally  unknown.  He  remembered  indistinctly  having 
been  told  that  she  had  been  recently  married,  and  he 
could  only  recall  her  maiden  name.  He  had  not  the 
remotest  clue  with  regard  to  her  address. 

The  special  estrangement  of  the  past  few  months 
rendered  the  situation  peculiarly  trying.  He  gazed 
gloomily  into  the  fire,  more  disturbed  than  he  had 
been  at  any  time  since  his  anxiety  had  been  aroused. 
What  possible  object  she  could  have  in  shrouding 
her  movements  in  mystery  he  failed  to  divine.  Why 
had  she  not  frankly  told  him  when  she  should  return  ? 
There  had  been  no  mention  of  the  probable  length  of 
her  visit,  nothing  to  relieve  his  mind.  On  the  con- 
trary, the  second  telegram  had  been  strangely  ambigu- 
ous. There  was  a  hint  of  finality  in  it  that  had  startled 
him  when  he  first  read  it.  It  was  long,  almost  a  note, 
and  he  knew  it  by  heart.  But  he  had  tried  to  quiet 
the  indefinite  foreboding  that  had  gripped  his  heart 
when  it  came,  and  that  again  was  beginning  to  steal 
over  him.  He  strove  resolutely  to  combat  it  now  as 
h£  sat  listening  absently  to  a  boisterous  wind  that 

335 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

beat  persistently  against  the  house,  and  watched  the 
curling  lilac  flames  upon  his  deserted  hearthstone. 

But  he  was  hard  pressed  with  a  gnawing  pain  that 
would  not  be  ignored.  He  was  distinctly  miserable 
as  he  grappled  with  this  new  evidence  of  the  widening 
of  the  breach  between  them,  and  conscious  of  a  be- 
numbing sense  of  failure.  And  after  a  while,  in  order 
to  force  his  thoughts  into  calmer  channels,  he  reached 
forth  a  hand  to  the  table  and  mechanically  picked  up 
the  first  thing  it  touched  upon. 

It  chanced  to  be  the  January  number  of  the  critical 
journal  that  Marian  had  brought  home  with  her  from 
Cincinnati  six  or  seven  weeks  previous.  Afterwards 
she  had  subscribed  to  it,  and  this  copy,  the  first  one 
he  had  seen,  had  just  come  in.  He  turned  the  pages 
aimlessly,  and  finally  his  eye  was  caught  by  an  article 
on  the  poet  Henley,  and  he  read  a  paragraph  or  two. 
The  writer's  style  was  interesting,  and  the  sketch  held 
him.  Presently  he  came  upon  these  lines  quoted  in 

illustration : 

"  Out  of  the  night  that  covers  me, 
Black  as  the  pit  from  pole  to  pole, 
I  thank  whatever  gods  may  be 
For  my  unconquerable  soul." 

The  magazine  fell  from  his  grasp,  and  with  a  half- 
uttered  exclamation  he  rose  to  his  feet.  His  eyes  were 
shining,  and  his  whole  being  was  quiveringly  alive  to 
the  words  that  had  come  upon  him  as  a  trumpet  call 

336 


A   LETTER 

suddenly  sounded.  For  a  moment  he  stood  staring 
straight  ahead  of  him,  like  a  soldier  facing  his  com- 
mander with  head  erect  and  muscles  tense  and  wait- 
ing; and  he  came  to  himself  with  a  start  when  a  sound 
outside  forced  itself  upon  his  consciousness. 

But  the  look  of  exalted  feeling,  of  that  profound 
sense  of  uplift  that  sometimes  comes  to  the  overbur- 
dened soul  through  sources  the  most  unexpected, 
and  to  which  it  lends  itself  as  to  angelic  ministrations, 
was  still  lingering  upon  his  features  and  in  his  attitude 
when  he  responded  to  a  knock  upon  the  door. 

James  entered.  He  held  a  letter,  and  the  negro  was 
profuse  in  apologies.  The  letter  had  come  at  noon, 
and  had  been  safely  laid  aside  to  be  delivered  as  soon 
as  Roger  should  arrive.  But  business  had  detained 
the  young  lawyer,  and  he  had  had  luncheon  down 
town ;  and  as  it  had  been  for  James  a  particularly  busy 
day,  he  had  found  the  extra  tax  upon  his  memory  a 
little  too  much  for  him. 

"I  dunno  huccome  me  to  fergit,"  he  declared  in 
great  disturbance,  his  under  jaw  lax  and  his  mouth 
wide  open. 

Roger  reached  out  carelessly.  "Oh,  that  is  all 
right,  James,"  he  said,  kindly,  seeing  the  man's  comic 
but  very  real  distress  over  his  lapse.  He  had  presup- 
posed the  contents,  and  instantly  inferred  that  it  was 
merely  a  note  of  invitation  including  both  Marian  and 

337 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

himself,  or  something  equally  as  unimportant.  He  was 
sure  that  if  Marian  had  written  she  would  have  directed 
her  letter  to  his  office,  and  he  should  already  have 
received  it. 

But  the  moment  he  took  it  into  his  hand  he  knew 
that  it  was  from  Marian.  It  was  a  lengthy  communi- 
cation, and  he  checked  an  involuntary  expression  of 
surprise  as  his  rapid  glance,  sweeping  past  her  bold 
and  dashing  chirography,  fell  upon  the  postmark:  the 
letter  had  been  mailed  in  New  York. 

James  retired  and  Roger  opened  the  envelope 
speedily.  At  the  first  two  sentences  his  face  blanched 
to  a  strained,  ghastly  pallor  that  slowly  faded  into 
a  sort  of  gray,  granite-like  hue,  as  if  his  counte- 
nance had  become  gradually  petrified.  Then  an  awful 
crimson  mounted  to  his  brow  and  stayed  there.  She 
wrote: 

"I  shall  go  straight  to  the  point  in  this  letter.  I 
wish  you  to  know  at  once  that  I  have  taken  myself  out 
of  your  life  —  and  forever.  We  were  mismated.  You 
never  loved  me,  and  I  always  knew  why  you  married 
me,  and  that  it  was  for  the  reason  that  I  made  you  do 
it.  I  made  you,  or  rather,  your  honor  made  you;  for 
I  could  not  quite  have  the  consolation  of  believing  that 
in  this  supreme  act  it  was  your  inclination  that  con- 
sented as  well  as  your  volition.  Perhaps  wounded 
vanity  may  be  an  explanation  to  you  of  something. 
But  it  can  hardly  explain  everything,  and  I  am  sure 

338 


A   LETTER 

there  is  nothing  I  can  say  that  will  make  you  ever 
think  with  anything  like  extenuation  of  the  thing  I 
have  done;  you  are  too  stern  a  moralist.  Briefly,  I  have 
left  you  that  my  life  may  be  spent  with  some  one  who 
loves  me  and  whom  I  love! 

"I  think  I  can  picture  to  myself  your  wrath  at 
thought  of  the  man  who  has  thus  dared  to  intrude 
himself  between  you  and  me,  and  to  whom  I  am  now 
joyfully,  and  triumphantly  turning.  Your  anger  will 
doubtless  be  a  Kentuckian's  anger,  and  one  knows 
what  that  usually  means.  But  a  Kentuckian  prefers, 
I  believe,  to  kill  his  adversary  in  even  combat,  and  I 
am  quite  sure  that  he  would  not  fight  you.  Not 
because  he  isn't  brave.  He  is  fearless,  but  he  would 
find  it  wholly  impossible  to  understand  your  point  of 
view.  He  loves  me  —  you  do  not  love  me  —  then 
why  any  fuss  at  all?  Perhaps  we  shall  both  pay  the 
penalty  some  day.  There  seems  to  be  a  Nemesis  for 
such  as  we  that  is  unswerving.  So  be  it.  Nothing 
can  frighten  me.  If  there  were  torture  awaiting  me, 
and  if  it  were  to  be  greater  ten  thousand  times  ten 
thousand  than  that  any  other  woman  has  ever  endured, 
I  still  should  do  precisely  what  I  have  done. 

"And  now  before  I  bring  my  letter  to  a  close  there 
is  one  more  thing.  It  concerns  —  the  Secret.  Ever 
since  I  have  known  you  I  have  lived  under  an  agony 
of  apprehension  lest  you  should  discover  it.  Now  it  is 
even  a  relief  to  speak  of  it.  It  seems  to  reveal  me, 
after  all  these  months  of  concealment,  as  merely  the 
product  of  my  heredity,  and  to  shift  the  blame  from 
individual  responsibility  to  those  ancient  forces  that 

339 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

have  been  at  work  with  humanity  from  the  very 
beginning.  I  can  see  your  start  of  horror  at  what  I 
shall  tell  you,  yet  something  urges  me  on. 

"  I  wish  you  to  know  that  I  am  the  child  of  one  who, 
like  myself,  placed  love  above  law,  and  in  whose  veins 
there  flowed  wine  instead  of  blood  —  rich  red  wine 
that  glowed  and  sparkled,  and  made  the  senses  reel, 
as  in  the  days  when  the  world  was  young  and  nature 
was  supreme.  But  to  make  everything  clear  to  you, 
it  is  necessary  to  go  back  a  little. 

"  Generations  ago  we  were  respectable,  but  gradually 
we  drifted  downward  in  the  social  scale  until  our 
position  was  the  humblest.  My  mother  was  beautiful. 
She  was  the  wife  of  a  little  Yankee  florist  who  kept  a 
shop  on  one  of  the  side  streets  in  Richmond.  My 
mother  stood  behind  the  counter  and  sold  flowers  to 
any  who  would  buy.  Among  her  customers  was  a 
young  man,  very  wealthy,  who  came  every  day  for 
a  rose  to  wear  in  his  buttonhole.  He  was  the  son  of  a 
New  England  Abolitionist  who  had  drifted  down  to 
Virginia  at  the  close  of  the  Civil  War,  and  speedily 
grown  rich  on  the  misfortunes  of  the  impoverished 
Southerners.  The  whole  family  was  despised,  and  for 
the  sake  of  companionship  the  young  man  used  to 
spend  hours  in  the  flower  store.  One  day  my  mother 
disappeared  with  him.  She  was  gone  for  more  than 
a  year.  Then  the  florist  died.  Shortly  afterward  my 
mother  returned,  bought  the  little  shop  in  which  she 
used  to  stand,  and  established  herself  at  the  business, 
this  time  on  a  larger  scale.  She  brought  back  with 
her  a  little  girl  of  three  months  to  whom  she  gave  the 

340 


A   LETTER 

name,  which  she  still  retained,  of  the  dead  florist,  and 
her  own  name,  Marian. 

"After  I  was  ten  years  old  I  was  never  but  once  in 
Virginia.  My  mother  pinched  and  saved,  and  sent 
me  off  to  a  good  school.  It  was  even  possible,  later 
on,  to  give  me  a  college  education.  Afterwards  her 
health  failed,  and  I  was  able  by  teaching  to  make 
a  meager  support  for  us  both.  That  one  time  I  was 
in  Richmond  I  never  forgot.  I  was  just  eleven.  One 
night  a  carriage  drove  up  to  our  doorway,  and  an 
elderly  woman,  very  handsomely  dressed,  with  a  hard, 
proud  face,  got  out.  She  came  to  my  mother  to  make 
inquiry  of  the  wealthy  New  England  people  who  had 
lived  next  door  to  her  all  the  time  they  were  in  Rich- 
mond, and  with  whom  she  had  had  some  business 
dealing.  The  family  had  mysteriously  disappeared. 
She  made  no  pretense  of  sparing  the  situation;  and 
she  evidently  supposed  me  to  be  too  young  a  child  to 
understand.  But  I  did  understand.  It  was  my  first 
acquaintance  with  the  Secret. 

"  That  is  all.  I  know  that  it  is  a  great  wrong  I  have 
done  you,  and  I  am  sorry  for  your  suffering.  But 
for  myself  I  regret  nothing.  I  wish  that  I  might  have 
spared  you  —  everything.  But  I  was  your  destiny. 

"We  shall  go  abroad,  and  we  shall  lose  ourselves 
in  such  a  way  that  no  one  shall  find  us.  I  do  not  intend 
that  you  shall  ever  know,  and  I  shall  guard  his  name 
from  discovery  as  Elaine  guarded  the  sacred  shield 
ofLauncelot.  MARIAN." 

The   last  sheet  fluttered  from  his   hand   and  lay 
341 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

beside  the  rest  on  the  rug  at  his  feet,  and  still  that 
dark,  terrible  flush  remained,  and  still  the  expression 
of  his  features  did  not  alter.  Moments  passed.  All 
at  once,  as  if  the  mighty  passion  that  shook  him  had 
destroyed  the  work  of  centuries,  reducing  him  from  a 
highly  civilized  state  of  being  to  that  of  utter  bar- 
barism, a  low  growl  as  of  an  infuriated  wild  beast 
broke  from  him,  and  he  sprang  to  his  feet.  For  an 
instant  he  stood  like  one  confronting  a  deadly  foe 
whom  he  was  eager  to  fall  upon  and  throttle,  his  form 
quivering  in  every  nerve,  his  eyes  dire  and  threatening, 
his  face  suddenly  livid. 

All  the  deeply  implanted  love  and  reverence  for  the 
home  which  is  the  groundwork  of  Anglo-Saxon  charac- 
ter, and  which,  despite  the  records  of  their  divorce 
courts,  with  the  Kentuckian  still  amounts  to  a  passion 
the  most  exalted;  all  the  old  savage  spirit  of  protection 
and  defense,  the  primordial  instinct  of  the  male, 
guarding  his  own  and  prompting  to  deeds  of  violence 
upon  the  smallest  encroachment  of  his  rights;  all  the 
hot,  impetuous  fury  of  a  people  only  too  prone  to  take 
the  law  into  their  own  hands  and  to  mete  out  judg- 
ment swift  and  terrible  to  the  offender  against  its 
fireside  peace,  trusting  to  public  sentiment  and  the 
"  unwritten  law  "  for  justification  —  all  this  and  more 
struggled  in  the  blind,  animal  rage  that  possessed 
him. 

342 


A   LETTER 

*  In  the  first  rush  of  emotion,  thought  of  Marian  and 
of  her  infidelity  seemed  held  in  a  sort  of  stern  abeyance 
to  his  overwhelming  wrath  against  her  unknown  para- 
mour; but  presently  a  sense  of  the  awful  wreckage  she 
had  wrought  in  his  life  bore  down  full  upon  him,  and 
with  a  cry  of  proud  and  bitter  defiance,  a  bracing  of 
all  his  powers,  he  flung  out  his  arms,  and  began  to 
stride  up  and  down  the  room. 

His  spirit,  already  keyed  to  a  high  pitch  of  heroic 
endurance  by  the  magnificent  courage  of  the  lines  he 
had  just  read  when  her  letter  was  given  to  him,  was 
able  still  to  rise  unconquered  from  the  blow  she  had 
dealt  him,  through  an  inherent  dogged  resistance,  a 
certain  toughness  of  fiber,  that  forbade  him  even  now 
to  succumb;  and  above  the  storm  of  tumultuous  feel- 
ing that  swayed  him,  once  more  he  felt  the  thrill  of  the 
valiant,  and  again  he  heard  the  trumpet  call. 

The  magazine  lay  open  at  the  place,  and  he  snatched 
it  up  from  the  table;  and  eagerly,  hungrily,  he  read 
another  verse: 

"  In  the  fell  clutch  of  circumstance, 
I  have  not  winced  or  cried  aloud; 
Under  the  bludgeonings  of  chance, 
My  head  is  bloody,  but  unbowed." 

"  Thank  God ! "  he  said  to  himself,  hoarsely,  between 
his  clenched  teeth,  "thank  God  that  I  too  am  able 
to  say  that  thing!"  Then  he  read  on,  his  excitement 

343 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

reaching  to  the  point  of  frenzy,  and  his  face  wild  and 

haggard — 

"  Beyond  this  place  of  wrath  and  tears, 
Looms  but  the  horror  of  the  shade. 
And  yet  the  menace  of  the  years 
Finds,  and  shall  find  me,  unafraid. 

"  It  matters  not  how  straight  the  gate, 
How  charged  with  punishment  the  scroll. 
I  am  the  master  of  my  fate, 
I  am  the  captain  of  my  soul." 

He  had  grown  suddenly  very  white,  and  with  a 
strange,  luminous  sort  of  pallor.  He  was  trembling 
when  he  closed  the  magazine  and  laid  it  on  the  table. 
Perhaps  the  verses  were  non-Christian.  Perhaps  they 
were  even  impious  in  their  tone  of  daring  defiance. 
Perhaps  they  were  nothing  of  the  kind.  Whatever 
they  were,  and  he  was  too  overwrought  to  think  clearly, 
whatever  they  might  mean,  to  him  in  that  moment  they 
meant  only  one  thing:  a  spirit  undaunted  by  terrible 
mortal  trial.  And  as  he  lifted  his  head  and  looked 
the  situation  in  the  face,  squarely,  and  with  a  full 
recognition  of  all  its  shame  and  all  its  hideousness, 
there  came  to  him  a  solemn  determination  that  sought 
with  unclouded  faith  to  invoke  to  itself  the  aid  of  the 
divine,  as  inwardly  and  in  a  sort  of  exaltation,  he 
declared  she  should  not,  she  should  not  destroy  his 
life! 

He  stood  a  moment,  and  then  once  more  he  began 
that  quick,  nervous  walk  up  and  down  the  room,  feeling 

344 


A   LETTER 

himself  in  his  great  agony  caged  within  the  narrow 
space  like  some  savage  thing  entrapped.  The  desire 
for  the  complete  aloneness  that  can  come  to  one  only 
in  the  midst  of  a  vast  solitude,  for  the  feel  upon  his 
hot  brow  of  the  icy  cold  of  the  wintry  night,  for  the 
revivifying  and  strengthening  of  the  physical  part  of 
him  through  a  resistance  of  nature's  forces,  presently 
drove  him  to  the  doorway.  But  with  his  hand  on  the 
knob  he  paused  abruptly.  A  new  thought  had  pierced 
him  through  and  through,  and  brought  him  to  a  stand- 
still with  a  sense  of  shock  mightier  than  anything  that 
had  preceded  it. 

Until  that  instant  the  realization  of  any  consequence 
to  himself,  save  utter  humiliation,  in  Marian's  act  had 
not  taken  hold  of  him.  But  all  at  once,  like  the  flash 
of  a  lantern  in  the  eyes  of  one  groping  in  the  darkness, 
the  flame  of  a  dazzling  inquiry  swept  full  into  the 
secret  chambers  of  his  soul;  and  bewildered  he  put  up 
his  hand  to  his  head  and  drew  back,  staggering  a  little 
and  blinded. 

But  the  light  had  reached  to  that  furthest  penetralia 
where,  unknown  even  to  himself,  there  had  slumbered 
always  through  the  dark  months  of  his  married  life  a 
longing  perpetual  and  unquenchable  —  the  longing  for 
release.  And  he  knew,  with  a  sharp  tightening  of  the 
muscles  about  the  heart  and  a  quick  reeling  of  the 
brain,  that  he  had  come  face  to  face  with  the  question 

345 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

which,  continually,  until  he  should  find  its  answer, 
would  be  before  him  day  and  night,  maddening  him 
with  its  sweet  promptings,  and  taking  on  in  its  solution 
the  profoundest  of  ethical  meanings  —  the  question, 
Would  he,  should  he,  demand  his  freedom  ? 


346 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  UNEXPECTED 

IT  was  a  bright  though  blustering  March  morning 
several  months  later,  and  Judith  Beverley  was  returning 
home  after  an  errand  that  had  taken  her  into  a  distant 
part  of  the  town.  She  was  a  little  cross  and  decidedly 
bored  in  spite  of  the  warm  spring  sunshine  and  the 
pleasing  consciousness  that  her  new  tailor  gown  of  a  clear 
blue  broadcloth  fitted  her  with  a  trimness  that  gave 
something  like  style  to  her  short,  over-plump  figure. 

She  regarded  the  morning's  work  as  an  entirely 
useless  expenditure  of  time  and  energy,  and  the  demand 
for  it  as  merely  one  of  those  vagaries  of  the  maternal 
brain  to  which  she  must  yield  an  enforced  obedience. 
She  had  been  somewhat  compensated,  however,  for 
the  effort.  While  making  her  way  across  one  of  the 
crowded  thoroughfares  she  had  come  upon  an  old 
friend  who  had  detailed  to  her  certain  choice  bits 
of  gossip  —  one  in  particular  —  which  had  sent  her 
home  eager  to  be  the  first  to  impart  the  exciting  infor- 
mation. 

347 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

As  she  reached  her  own  square  she  stood  a  moment 
looking  steadily  toward  the  great  white  house  with  the 
green  shutters  just  before  her,  her  expression  betraying 
an  interest  that  was  seldom  aroused  in  her  in  relation 
to  that  solitary  abode. 

Her  keen  eyes  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  symbol 
of  that  which  dignifies  alike  the  home  of  a  prince  or 
peasant,  and  reduces  all  men  to  the  level  of  a  frail 
humanity  —  the  common  basis  of  inevitable  unity. 
About  the  old-fashioned  doorbell  which  so  many  times 
she  had  stood  on  tiptoe  to  reach  there  hung  a  wreath 
of  snowy  flowers,  and  from  it  long  streamers  of  black 
ribbon  fluttered  in  the  moist,  spring  air. 

From  the  rear  of  the  building  an  aged  negro  with  a 
basket  on  his  arm  emerged  and  came  slowly  toward  her 
down  the  little  foot-path  that  wound  under  the  newly 
budding  trees  toward  the  front  gate.  He  hobbled  a  little 
as  he  walked,  and  his  decrepit  form,  arrayed  in  a  cast- 
off  suit  of  his  dead  master's  clothes  many  times  too 
large  for  him,  was  so  bent  and  changed  and  shrunken 
that  Judith  did  not  immediately  recognize  him. 

"Good  morning,  Uncle  Lish,"  she  said  as  she  drew 
nearer,  "I  have  been  waiting  here  to  speak  to  you." 

The  old  negro  put  down  his  basket,  gave  a  troubled 
glance  around,  and  then  raised  a  trembling  hand  to 
his  head  and  removed  his  hat  with  the  grace  of  the 
colonel  himself. 

348 


THE    UNEXPECTED 

"Well,  little  mistis,"  he  responded,  slowly,  "hit  may 
be  a  good  mawnin'  to  you,  but  de  Lawd  knows  hit 
ain't  no  good  mawnin'  to  me.  I  is  been  de  cun'l's 
body-servant  ever  sence  dat  thar  low  lifeted  Sam  Munday 
done  run  off  wid  ole  miss'  silver  sugar  tongs,  an'  he 
gold  watch  an'  chain  what  ole  marster  done  give  him 
on  he  death  baid  fifty  year  ago  come  next  August,  an' 
I  is  feelin'  mighty  poo'ly  an'  down  in  de  mouf." 

"Oh,  I  know,  Uncle  Lish!"  cried  Judith,  sympa- 
thetically, "  and  I  am  so  sorry  for  you.  I  am  sure  you 
will  miss  the  colonel  terribly;  he  was  always  so  good 
to  you.  But  you  must  cheer  up.  You  know  you  still 
have  Aunt  Daphne." 

"  Daphne  sho  is  a  mighty  good  'ooman,  Miss  Judy, 
dat  she  is,  an'  I  ain'  sayin'  nuttin'  agin'  her,  caze  she 
kin  roast  de  bes'  shote  an'  make  de  bes'  apple  dumplin's 
I  is  ever  sot  down  to,  but  she  ain'  de  cun'l,  an'  hit  ain' 
no  use  sayin'  she  is." 

The  old  negro  reached  down  somewhere  in  the 
depths  of  his  coat  pocket  and  brought  forth  a  huge 
bandanna  handkerchief  with  which  he  proceeded  to 
mop  his  face. 

"Daphne,"  he  continued,  "she  lak  to  be  waited  on 
moughtly,  but  she  ain'  got  no  beahd  to  shave,  an'  no 
fine  clothes  to  bresh,  an'  she  don'  keer  nuttin'  'tall 
'bout  mint  julep." 

By  such  incontrovertible  arguments  Judith  was 
349 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

silenced.  "  We  didn't  hear  until  quite  late  last  evening 
of  the  colonel's  death,"  she  remarked,  presently.  "  You 
know  papa  is  away." 

"  Yassum  —  yassum,  I  knowed  yo'  pa  wuz  away. 
De  cun'l  done  ax  foh  him  whin  he  wuz  fust  took  sick, 
an'  I  went  arter  him.  Lawd,  Lawd,  I  is  knowed  all 
'long  dat  dis  wuz  gwine  be  a  hard  winter!  I  knowed 
it  'way  down  yonder  last  fall  whin  de  big  snow  come, 
an'  Daphne  cooked  dat  tu'key.  Ef  hit  didn't  have  de 
stronges'  breas'  bone  you  ever  see !  Den  I  knowed  dat 
all  de  nuts  out  in  de  woods  wuz  laid  by,  caze  de  squir'ls 
done  been  moughty  peart,  and  Brer  Tompkins  what 
lives  out  on  de  old  Frankfort  pike  say  de  snakes  an'  de 
turkles  done  buhried  down  twice  ez  deep,  an'  de 
rabbits  done  got  dey  extry  front  teeth,  an'  de  coons  got 
dey  tree  coats  o'  hyar." 

"  It  has  been  quite  a  cold  winter  for  this  part  of  the 
world,"  said  Judith,  "but  it  seems  too  bad  that  the 
colonel  should  have  lived  through  it  and  then  died 
just  as  the  spring  was  coming  on." 

Uncle  Lish  slowly  shook  his  head.  "Whin  Marse 
Gabr'el  git  ready  to  blow  he  horn  he  don'  pay  no 
'tention  to  de  time  o'  yeah,  an'  de  time  o'  night  neider. 
Yas,  Lawd,  hit  ain'  no  use  a-hangin'  back  den,  an' 
sayin'  what  sort  o'  day  you'd  ruther  go  on,  caze  he 
ain'  gwine  stan'  no  foolin'.  Howsomeveh,  de  cun'l 
wuz  all  ready.  He  had  he  uniform  on,  an'  at  de  fust 

350 


THE   UNEXPECTED 

soun'  o'  de  trumpet  he  r'ared  hisse'f  back  an'  he  say, 
'I  is  gwine  to  jine  de  gre't  ahmy,  Lish,  an'  I  is  gwine 
to  meet  my  Commander  face  to  face.'  Gawd,  what 
an  ahmy!  I  seen  'em  a-passin'  an'  a-passin'  befo' 
my  eyes  twell  I  thought  dey  wuz  gwine  jump  clean 
outen  dey  sockets.  Dey  kep'  on  a-comin'  an  a-comin', 
an'  dey  wuz  a-shoutin'  an'  a-singin'  at  de  ve'y  top  o' 
dey  lungs,  an'  dey  faces  wuz  shinin'  lak  de  risin'  sun; 
an'  den  all  on  a  suddent  I  see  de  cun'l,  an'  he  wuz 
ridin'  on  he  white  horse  an'  smilin'  ez  I  ain'  seen  him 
smile  sence  Gin'ral  Lee  surrender,  an'  soon  ez  I  cotched 
sight  o'  him  I  say,  'Gawd!  we  done  druv  back  de 
Yankees,  an'  dey  ain'  gwine  be  no  mo'  fightin'  forever 
an'  eveh,  Amen ! ' " 

At  this  solemn  outburst  Judith  stood  meditating  and 
amazed.  Somehow  the  colonel  had  never  impressed 
her  as  being  at  all  religious,  and  the  spectacle  that  the 
old  negro  described  presented  him  in  an  altogether 
new  and  different  light  from  that  in  which  she  was 
wont  to  regard  him. 

Perhaps  something  of  her  surprise  showed  in  her 
ordinarily  impassive  countenance,  for  Uncle  Lish 
said  quickly: 

"He  ain'  nuver  been  de  same  sence  Miss  Sophie 
died,  an'  seem  lak  he  grievin'  he  ve'y  heaht  out,  though 
he  wuz  heap  too  proud  to  let  on  much.  Howsomeveh, 
I  knowed  de  Lawd  done  teched  him,  an'  dat  huccome 

351 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

me  to  say  one  night  right  keerless  lak,  '  Marse  Theoph ' 
(honey,  you  knows  I  al'ays  calls  him  Marse  Theoph 
whin  dey  ain'  none  o'  dem  urr  niggers  'roun'),  '  Marse 
Theoph,'  I  say,  'don'  you  wan'  me  to  tell  Mr.  Roger 
you  is  feelin'  poo'ly?'  You  see  I  knowed  hit  would 
holp  him  moughtly  to  see  Miss  Sophie's  boy.  Gawd, 
ef  you  could  seen  de  way  he  looked !  I  fa'rly  trimbled 
whin  he  fixed  he  lightnin'  eye  on  me.  'De  scamp!'  he 
say  in  a  voice  dat  soun'  lak  thunder;  'don'  you  dar  to 
bring  him  heah!'  But  de  nex'  mawnin'  he  say  right 
sof ,  tu'nin'  he  eyes  away, '  Lish,  ef  you  thinks  he  would 
come  — '  and  den  he  ain'  say  no  mo'." 

Judith  had  been  listening  with  intensest  interest. 
"You  don't  mean  to  tell  me  that  he  actually  allowed 
Mr.  Roger  to  come  and  see  him  ?  "  she  inquired.  "  I 
thought  he  simply  hated  him." 

Uncle  Lish  eyed  the  girl  gravely.  "Honey,"  he 
said,  falteringly,  at  last,  in  that  pathetic,  half-apologetic 
tone  with  which  the  old-time  Southern  negro  always 
reminds  the  individual  whom  he  profoundly  respects 
of  the  supremacy  of  the  Deity,  "  Honey,  whin  de  good 
Lawd  tek  up  he  abode  in  de  heaht,  thar  ain'  no  room 
lef  foh  hate.  He  too  big,  an'  seem  lak  he  fill  ever 
leetle  corner  lak  de  sunshine." 

"  Did  Mr.  Roger  go  to  him  ?  "  asked  Judith,  quickly. 

The  old  negro  was  gazing  straight  up  into  the 
heavens,  blinking  a  little  in  the  golden  sunlight.  Then 

352 


THE    UNEXPECTED 

without  lowering  his  eyes  he  began  to  speak  in  a  slow, 
singsong  voice,  falling  into  the  weird  intoning  with 
which  his  race  are  accustomed  to  chant  a  requiem  over 
their  dead  —  the  most  mournful  sound  on  earth  to 
all  who  have  ever  heard  it. 

"De  young  marster  come.  He  knelt  down  beside 
de  baid.  De  cun'l  raised  he  han'  an'  blessed  him. 
De  Lawd  look  down  an'  smile.  Thar  wuz  angels 
eveh'  whar  —  at  de  foot  an'  at  de  haid.  I  hearn  'em 
singin'  all  de  time.  De  cun'l  hearn  'em  too.  He  say, 
'  I'm  gwine  home  to  glory,  an'  de  Lawd  done  wash  me 
clean  in  de  blood  o'  de  Lamb.'" 

Judith's  face  expressed  a  mingled  curiosity  and 
fright.  Once  in  her  childhood  she  had  seen  Uncle 
Lish  in  such  a  state  of  exalted  religious  ecstasy  and  it 
had  taken  no  less  than  three  large  "crab  lanterns," 
two  cakes  of  maple  sugar,  and  an  orange  to  quiet  her. 
Involuntarily  she  made  a  movement  of  departure. 
But  all  at  once  the  old  negro  brought  his  gaze  back 
to  earth,  and  his  tone  was  altered  completely  when 
he  next  spoke.  So  sudden  was  the  transition  that 
Judith  almost  gasped  for  breath. 

"Me  and  Daphne  gwine  have  a  new  marster  now," 
he  said,  sadly  and  quietly,  "  but  bless  Gawd  hit'll  be  a 
good  one,  an'  ef  hit  ain,  de  cun'l  hisse'f  hit's  de  cun'l's 
grandson,  an'  de  Lawd  knows  I  is  been  prayin'  day  an' 
night  foh  Miss  Sophie's  chile.  Yassum,"  he  added, 

353 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

nodding  his  head  solemnly  to  Judith's  mute,  astonished 
stare,  "  Yassum,  de  cun'l  done  lef  him  eveh'thing  — 
all  he  gold  an'  silver  in  de  bank,  an  all  he  houses  an' 
lan's,  an'  sheep,  an'  cattle.  Yas,  Lawd,  de  gre't  day 
of  peace  have  come  at  las',  an'  dis  ole  nigger's  done 
lived  to  see  it,  thank  Gawd,  thank  Gawd ! " 

Judith  had  suddenly  paled.  She  slowly  turned  her 
face  away  and  for  a  moment  was  as  silent  as  if  stunned. 
Then  she  drew  back  a  little. 

"  It  is  certainly  a  great  day  for  Mr.  Roger,"  she  said, 
a  trifle  coldly,  "  for  he  will  be  one  of  the  richest  men  in 
Fayette  County.  Now  I  must  go,  Uncle  Lish,  and 
thank  you  for  telling  me.  I  am  sorry  to  see  that  your 
rheumatism  isn't  any  better." 

The  old  negro  painfully  reached  down  and  picked 
up  his  basket.  As  he  straightened  himself  a  quaint 
humor  for  an  instant  traced  itself  upon  his  wrinkled 
countenance  and  quickly  vanished,  leaving  its  appeal- 
ing, humble  pathos  only  more  pronounced. 

"Well,  little  mistis,  you  ain't  no  sorrier'n  I  is,"  he 
said,  as  he  hobbled  through  the  gate. 

Judith  sped  quickly  homeward,  heedless  now  of  the 
frolicsome  March  wind,  although  it  was  blowing  loose 
strands  of  hair  across  her  eyes  and  robbing  her  of  her 
customary  neat,  well-groomed  appearance,  her  sole 
pretension  to  good  looks.  Two  scarlet  spots  flamed 
in  her  cheeks  and  her  expression  betokened  a  dull, 

354 


THE   UNEXPECTED 

smoldering  resentment.  The  astounding  information 
concerning  Roger's  change  of  fortune  only  aggravated 
her  feeling  of  irritation  toward  him;  and  though  nearly 
a  year  and  a  half  had  elapsed  since  his  marriage,  it 
had  not  been  long  enough  to  cure  her  of  the  wound  his 
indifference  had  inflicted.  The  fact  that  he  had  always 
seemed  completely  to  ignore  the  possibility  of  a  love 
affair  between  himself  and  her  had  only  cut  her  vanity 
the  more  deeply;  and  the  memory  of  it,  the  sting  of  it, 
had  been  a  sort  of  poison  that  had  threatened  to 
undermine  her  whole  moral  constitution.  She  saw 
him  now  in  a  new  aspect,  with  the  halo  about  him 
that  wealth  to  the  shallow-hearted  ever  gives,  and 
her  disappointment  at  the  loss  of  him  increased  ten- 
fold. 

On  entering  her  home  she  heard  subdued  voices 
proceeding  from  the  library,  and  she  made  her  way 
thither.  There  was  a  little  low  ripple  of  laughter  as 
she  appeared  in  the  doorway,  and  the  next  instant  Mrs. 
Caldwell,  all  smiles  and  sweetness  and  effusion,  sprang 
from  her  chair  and  rustled  forward,  her  silken  skirts 
making  a  faint,  familiar  sound  behind  her,  delicate  and 
persistent  as  the  invariable  haunting  perfume  that  per- 
vaded her  garments.  There  was  something  so  indi- 
vidual in  it,  Judith  would  have  recognized  it  in  Europe 
and  with  her  eyes  closed;  but  for  the  moment  she  could 
scarcely  believe  her  senses. 

355 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

"  Where  on  earth  did  you  come  from  ?  "  she  blurted 
out,  standing  stock-still  on  the  threshold. 

"From  California,"  replied  Mrs.  Caldwell,  naively, 
with  a  comical  elevation  of  the  eyebrows.  "Did  I 
startle  you?  But  I  am  a  very  substantial-looking 
ghost.  I  have  gained  ten  pounds,  I  grieve  to  say. 
Mrs.  Beverley,  can't  you  do  something  for  me  ?  " 

Mrs.  Beverley  surveyed  her  guest  gravely  and  criti- 
cally, and  quite  as  if  she  were  beholding  her  for  the  first 
time.  Then  all  at  once  something  in  the  little,  tight,  par- 
tridge-like form  appealed  to  her  sense  of  humor,  and  she 
was  off  immediately,  indulging  in  one  of  her  prolonged 
fits  of  laughter,  from  which  she  finally  emerged  mopping 
her  eyes  and  elegantly  murmuring  her  apologies. 

"  My  dear,"  she  exclaimed  at  last,  somewhat  ambig- 
uously, "I  have  never  seen  you  looking  better  in  my 
life;  the  climate  of  California  must  have  agreed  with 
you." 

"  I  should  think  it  did,"  put  in  Judith,  as  she  plumped 
herself  down  into  a  chair  and  unbuttoned  l;er  jacket. 
"  You  certainly  stayed  long  enough.  When  was  it  you 
went?  Just  after  Roger  Boiling's  wedding,  wasn't  it 
—  fifteen  months  ago?" 

Mrs.  CaldwelFs  face  changed  quickly.  "  Just  after- 
wards. But  we  came  back  here  for  a  short  time  last 
summer  on  business.  I  believe  you  were  away,"  she 
said,  and  let  the  subject  fall. 

356 


THE    UNEXPECTED 

"By  the  way,  have  you  heard  the  news?"  Judith 
asked  carelessly  at  length,  making  her  gloves  into  a 
little  ball  and  tossing  them  with  her  jacket  on  the 
table.  "There  are  three  quite  exciting  things." 

Mrs.  Beverley  glanced  toward  Mrs.  Caldwell,  and 
the  latter  answered. 

"  I  have  only  just  returned,  Judith,"  she  said.  "  We 
came  yesterday,  and  you  two  are  the  first  persons  I 
have  seen.  I  know  of  very  little  that  has  happened 
since  we  went  away." 

Judith's  expression  was  stealthy  and  a  trifle  sus- 
picious. 

"Oh,  but  you  must  have  heard  again  and  again 
from  Roger,  so  that  nothing  that  greatly  concerns  him 
could  be  unknown  to  you." 

"I  have  had  only  two  letters  from  Roger  since  we 
went  away,"  said  Mrs.  Caldwell,  very  quietly.  "Does 
your  news  concern  him  ?  " 

"Slightly,"  remarked  Judith,  with  her  eyes  on  the 
ceiling. 

"But  I  thought  you  said  you  had  three  things  to 
tell,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Beverley,  whose  curiosity  was 
piqued  in  spite  of  herself. 

Judith  nodded  and  laughed  tantalizingly.  "  I  surely 
did,"  she  answered. 

There  was  silence.  Mrs.  Caldwell  looked  at  the 
clock  and  moved  a  little  uneasily  in  her  chair.  But 

357 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

Judith,  with  her  gaze  still  on  the  ceiling,  appeared 
wholly  unconscious  of  her  discomfiture.  Presently  she 
turned  abruptly  to  her  mother. 

"  Did  you  know  that  the  judge  and  Sibyl  are  expected 
home  this  evening?" 

Mrs.  Beverley  looked  up  surprised.  "Judge  Fon- 
taine and  Sibyl  ?  Why,  no.  I  thought  they  were  still 
in  Europe.  Who  told  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  heard  it  down  town  —  that  and  something 
else." 

"I  don't  see,"  began  Mrs.  Caldwell,  with  a  little 
nervous  catch  in  her  voice,  "what  their  arrival  has  to 
do  with  Roger.  I  thought  you  said  that  your  news 
concerned  him.  I  don't  see  —  " 

"Don't  you?"  Judith  fixed  her  gaze  coolly  upon 
the  face  of  her  questioner  and  stared  until  the  little 
woman  dropped  her  eyes.  "Don't  you?  But  you 
know  that  he  was  just  upon  the  point  of  falling  in  love 
with  Sibyl  when  he  met  your  Miss  Day,  and  it  seems 
rather  thrilling  that  he  should  now  go  to  live  next  door 
to  her  —  since  the  lovely  Marian  has  fled." 

"  Judith,  what  do  you  mean  ?  "  cried  Mrs.  Beverley, 
severely,  "  what  is  all  this  nonsense  you  are  hinting  at  ?  " 

"Nothing  at  all,"  replied  Judith,  imperturbably, 
"except  that  old  Colonel  Hart  got  religion  at  the  last 
and  left  his  entire  estate  to  Roger." 

"Oh!"  cried  the  two  women,  simultaneously,  and 
358 


THE   UNEXPECTED 

then  stared  each  other  wonderingly  in  the  eyes. 
Each  was  busy  with  her  own  thoughts,  and  a  strange 
stillness  reigned.  Presently  Mrs.  Beverley  turned 
and  looked  at  Judith.  There  was  in  her  face  a  curi- 
ous commingling  of  emotions,  a  broad  generosity  of 
feeling  that  could  completely  forget  self  in  her  pleasure 
in  the  good  fortune  of  another;  yet  encroaching  upon 
it,  though  never  threatening  to  overthrow  it,  there 
was  something  else,  the  maternal,  the  personal,  in- 
tensely strong  with  her,  if  not  too  strong  to  outweigh 
justice.  A  marriage  between  Judith  and  Roger 
Boiling  would  have  been  at  any  time  most  agreeable 
to  her.  His  own  intrinsic  qualities  and  high  social 
position  were  things  that  she  was  able  fully  to  appre- 
ciate; and  the  vulgar  exaltation  of  money  was  an 
abasement  that  she  had  been  safely  rescued  from, 
just  as  it  was  also  something  from  which  the  doc- 
tor was  equally  removed.  But  if  wealth  could  give 
little  in  their  estimation  to  the  inherently  sordid- 
minded,  the  plebeian  of  soul  as  well  as  of  outward 
station,  it  was  able  to  add  a  very  gracious  charm  to  the 
true  patrician  of  birth  and  heart;  and  as  she  studied  her 
most  unsatisfactory  offspring  there  sprang  up  within 
Mrs.  Beverley  a  very  human  regret  which  most  mothers 
would  not  have  found  it  difficult  to  understand. 

"And  the  other  thing,  my  dear,  that  you  had  to  tell 
us  ? "  she  inquired,  suavely. 

359 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

Judith  broke  into  a  harsh,  unfeeling  laughter,  and 
turned  her  head  provokingly  to  one  side,  while  she 
surveyed  the  two  askance. 

"How  lamentable  that  there  should  be  anything 
more!"  she  exclaimed,  shortly.  "If  only  the  curtain 
might  drop  upon  Roger  and  his  princely  inheritance 
without  reference  to  anything  else.  But  unfortunately 
there  is  too  much  reference  just  now  to  —  something 
else." 

Mrs.  Caldwell  looked  up  quickly.  "  Please  explain," 
she  said,  in  a  trembling  voice.  "Tim  and  I  are  his 
best  friends  here,  but  we  neither  of  us  know  anything 
definitely,  only  that  something  is  terribly,  pitifully 
wrong." 

Judith  gave  her  a  brief,  sidelong  glance  in  which 
there  was  a  hint  of  malice  deliberately  unconcealed. 
Mrs.  Caldwell's  apparent  part  in  the  destiny  of  the 
man  she  had  longed  for,  though  it  had  in  no  way 
altered  conditions  with  regard  to  herself,  was  some- 
thing that  had  always  filled  her  with  an  unreasoning 
resentment,  and  her  revenge  had  found  secret  satis- 
faction in  the  sort  of  torture  that  may  be  inflicted  by 
a  needless  withholding  and  delay.  However,  she 
was  beginning  to  be  bored,  and  she  was  reminded  that 
it  was  nearly  luncheon  time  by  the  striking  of  the 
clock  on  the  mantel. 

She  coughed  exasperatingly,  stretched  out  her  feet 
360 


THE   UNEXPECTED 

toward  the  fender  and  regarded  the  tips  of  her  shoes 
for  an  instant.  Then  all  at  once  she  leaned  forward, 
and  in  a  stage  whisper  loud  enough  to  be  heard  through- 
out the  room  she  poured  her  information  into  the  little 
woman's  ear. 


361 


CHAPTER  VII 

IN  WHICH  ROGER  COMES  INTO  HIS  OWN 

THREE  weeks  later  Roger  took  up  his  abode  in  the 
great  lonely  house  that  had  been  his  grandfather's, 
the  colonel  having  laid  special  emphasis  upon  the 
wish  that  the  change  of  residence  be  as  soon  as  possible 
effected.  Upon  this  point  he  had  even  shown  a  return 
to  his  customary  spirit  of  peremptory  command,  and 
Roger  had  finally  given  way,  though  not,  however, 
without  a  reluctance  that  he  did  not  try  to  explain. 
The  old  gentleman's  extraordinary  alteration  of  atti- 
tude, which  had  come  about  through  the  sure  work- 
ings of  sorrow,  the  very  real  grief  he  had  suffered  in 
the  death  of  Mrs.  Boiling,  and  in  his  repentance  for 
hardness  toward  her,  had  been  in  truth  rendered  far 
less  difficult  of  attainment  by  the  secret  satisfaction 
that  he  had  long  cherished  with  regard  to  his  grandson. 
From  all  sides  praise  of  the  young  man  had  been 
wafted  to  him;  and  on  the  rare  evenings  when,  despite 
his  increasing  infirmities,  his  house  had  been  opened 
to  certain  favorite  cronies,  bidden  to  a  game  of  whist 

362 


ROGER   COMES    INTO    HIS    OWN 

enlivened  by  a  hot  supper  served  with  old  Madeira 
or  choicest  port,  it  not  unfrequently  happened  that 
one  of  the  number  would  casually  let  fall  a  reference 
to  a  member  of  the  Lexington  bar  that  set  the  aged 
pulses  a-tingling,  and  made  him  eager  for  the  recon- 
ciliation that  had  finally  been  accomplished. 

It  was  a  moist  April  evening  when  Roger  dined  for 
the  first  time  in  his  new  home.  James  who  had  been 
still  retained,  although  eyed  by  Uncle  Lish  askance, 
had  been  sent  ahead  to  see  that  all  was  in  readiness, 
and  had  been  duly  snubbed  by  the  ancient  retainers  of 
the  house  into  such  a  state  of  humility  that  Roger, 
when  he  finally  arrived,  was  met  by  a  countenance  so 
subdued  and  woebegone  that  he  involuntarily  broke 
into  laughter  at  sight  of  it.  An  instant  afterward, 
however,  the  pale  face  of  the  young  man  had  grown 
a  shade  paler,  and  with  a  gesture  of  weariness  he  hung 
his  hat  on  the  old  elk  rack  and  strode  with  echoing 
footsteps  down  the  long  hall,  and  then  on  into  the  room 
adjoining  what  his  grandfather  had  called  the  office. 

After  he  had  dined  he  made  a  futile  effort  to  interest 
himself  in  a  book  that  he  took  at  random  from  the 
shelves  on  returning  to  the  library.  But  to-night  he 
could  not  read,  and  by  and  by  when  the  house  grew 
still  he  rose  and  wandered  from  room  to  room,  turning 
on  the  electric  lights,  and  then  looking  about  him  like 
a  lost  spirit  vainly  seeking  he  knew  not  what.  The 

363 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

old  Hart  portraits,  those  of  persons  of  the  name  or 
of  the  blood,  were  everywhere,  for  the  colonel  had  been 
able  to  obtain,  as  supplementary  to  those  he  had 
inherited,  many  that  came  into  his  hands  through  the 
impoverishment  of  their  original  owners. 

As  he  flung  himself  into  a  chair  he  found  himself 
thinking  grimly  of  the  manner  with  which  all  who 
had  gone  before  him  would  have  met  the  tragedy  of 
his  life. 

There  would  have  been  but  one  way,  he  knew: 
death  to  the  man  who  had  dared  the  wrong  and  divorce- 
ment to  the  woman.  And  yet,  torn  with  passions  no 
less  terrible  than  would  have  been  theirs,  feeling  that 
same  fierce  love  for  the  home  and  protection  of  it 
which  was  always  profoundly  dominant  with  the 
people  of  his  race,  and  which  with  the  Kentuckian 
often  breaks  forth  into  a  sort  of  blind,  animal  rage 
resulting  in  bloodshed  when  once  a  sin  against  the 
family  has  been  committed,  he  had  acted  as  not  one 
of  his  forefathers  would  have  acted,  he  felt  sure.  The 
temptation  to  stifle  the  promptings  of  the  larger  view, 
of  which  they  would  have  known  nothing,  had  driven 
him  at  first  almost  to  madness.  For  weeks  he  had 
grappled  with  it,  longing  to  free  himself  from  the  bond 
which  the  law  of  God  and  man  seemed  to  allow  him 
in  good  conscience  to  dissolve,  all  the  time  knowing 
that  his  choice  was  already  made  through  that  sense 

364 


ROGER    COMES    INTO    HIS    OWN 

of  sacred  obligation  toward  one's  fellows  which  his 
age  was  the  first  practically  to  apprehend,  and  which 
in  the  end  would  compel  him  to  wave  an  individual 
right  for  the  sake  of  a  far-reaching  gain. 

For  individualism  had  passed  into  altruism.  He  had 
at  last  arrived  at  a  strong  intellectual  conception  that 
marked  a  prodigious  advance  in  his  own  personal 
development.  And  it  had  given  him  a  deeper  rever- 
ence for  law,  from  which  springs  the  soundness  and 
the  purity  of  national  life,  a  clearer  comprehension  of 
the  value  of  the  individual,  from  which  springs  a 
recognition  of  the  dignity  and  worth  of  human  life. 

From  a  legal  as  well  as  a  social  point  of  view  the 
young  lawyer  had  studied  the  situation  growing  out 
of  a  lack  of  uniformity  in  the  statutes  concerning 
marriage  and  divorce  existing  in  the  various  common- 
wealths of  the  Union.  He  had  carefully  weighed  the 
oft-debated  question  of  Constitutional  amendment  and 
subsequent  legislation  by  Congress  whereby  the  Federal 
courts  should  be  solely  invested  with  the  power  to 
grant  divorce,  as  opposed  to  the  idea  of  the  states' 
rights  to  legislate  for  themselves ;  and  he  knew,  through 
a  thoughtful  consideration  of  the  figures  obtainable, 
that  the  number  of  divorces  granted  in  the  United 
States  annually  so  far  exceeded  the  number  granted 
in  other  countries  as  to  bring  before  the  mind  a  propor- 
tion appallingly  serious,  thus  making  plain  a  condition 

365 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

of  things  inherently  alarming,  and  which,  if  unchecked, 
tended  to  the  overthrow  of  the  very  foundation  stones 
of  the  nation's  greatness. 

These  things  he  knew;  and  yet —  All  at  once  he 
rose  and  began  to  move  up  and  down  the  room,  his 
hands  tightly  clenched,  his  face  set.  For  once  more 
the  battle,  hotter,  fiercer,  more  blinding  than  ever 
before,  was  upon  him,  and  to-night,  as  he  seemed  to 
stand  on  the  threshold  of  a  new  existence  that  offered 
to  him  such  unlimited  possibilities,  tender  as  well  as 
glorious,  he  wanted,  he  wanted  his  freedom !  How  he 
longed  for  it! 

Every  nerve  and  fiber  in  him  was  crying  out  for 
release.  Passions  strong  and  elemental  were  clamor- 
ing and  refusing  to  be  silenced.  The  blood  of  an 
untrammelled  race  was  stirring  in  him  and  rousing 
him  to  revolt.  Sacrifice  ?  It  was  noble,  it  was  godlike, 
yes  —  but  oh,  the  wild  joy  of  beginning  life  over  again, 
of  feeling  the  cool,  invigorating  breeze  of  the  dawn  of 
another  and  more  splendid  day  of  promise  that  was  to 
usher  in  the  full  play  of  all  his  manly  powers!  How 
could  he  close  his  eyes  to  the  sights  they  saw,  his  ears 
to  the  sounds  they  heard,  how  stifle  his  whole  being 
quivering  and  throbbing  at  the  bare  thought  of  renewal  ? 

For  more  than  an  hour  he  walked  there,  caged, 
miserable,  rebellious ;  but  after  a  time  a  great  weariness 
began  to  steal  over  him,  and  as  usual  in  such  moments 

366 


ROGER   COMES   INTO   HIS   OWN 

the  longing  came  to  him  overwhelmingly  for  his  mother, 
that  he  might  fling  himself  down  as  in  childhood  at 
her  feet  and  pour  out  his  griefs  to  her,  while  every  bit 
of  him  sobbed  for  something.  He  gave  a  wondering 
look  about  him,  as  if  appalled  by  his  own  desolateness. 

It  was  late,  and  the  old  house  was  very  still,  brooding 
in  solemn  quietude  over  the  memories  it  held.  Sud- 
denly, as  if  possessed  of  an  uncontrollable  desire  for 
human  contact,  for  anything  that  should  break  the 
spell  of  the  despair  that  was  upon  him,  Roger  crossed 
the  room  and  drew  back  the  window  curtain.  The 
act  revealed  a  familiar  scene. 

His  neighbor's  house  was  still  lighted,  and  Judge 
Fontaine,  sitting  in  his  customary  high-backed  chair, 
was  beside  his  library  table  busily  writing,  the  light 
from  a  student's  lamp  falling  softly  on  his  silvery  hair 
and  patrician  features.  In  the  room  above  a  single 
taper  burned  dimly. 

All  the  curtains  in  the  judge's  library  were  drawn, 
but  at  one  window  they  had  been  pulled  carelessly, 
leaving  a  space  large  enough  to  reveal  a  portion  of  the 
room;  and  before  this  small  interstice  Roger  stood 
gazing  like  a  man  starving  in  sight  of  bread,  yet  pow- 
erless to  reach  forth  a  hand  to  take  it.  By  a  strong 
effort  of  will  he  kept  his  eyes  resolutely  upon  a  level 
with  the  room  opposite,  not  once,  after  that  first  glance, 
lifting  them  to  the  room  above. 

367 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

A  voice  seemed  sounding  in  his  ears :  "  Be  pleased 
with  little  things,  such  as  the  flourishing  of  a  tree  or  a 
plant,  or  a  bed  of  flowers,  and  fret  not  at  disappoint- 
ments." They  were  the  words  out  of  an  old  letter, 
from  one  of  his  ancestors  that  the  judge  had  once 
quoted;  and  again  they  were  speaking  their  message 
of  peace  through  patience,  the  profoundest  of  all 
philosophy.  For  a  moment  Roger  stood  as  one  trans- 
fixed, hearing  the  voice  almost  as  an  actuality.  A 
change  came  over  his  features;  the  desperation,  the 
recklessness,  the  agitation  fled,  and  in  their  place  there 
was  the  quiet  of  resignation,  the  brave  front  which, 
until  to-night,  he  had  worn  through  many  long  days. 

He  drew  back  a  step  or  two  from  the  window,  but 
the  hand  that  still  held  the  curtain  trembled  a  little 
and  quickly  tightened  its  hold.  Then  slowly,  rever- 
ently, he  came  nearer  again,  and  as  one  lifts  his  eyes 
to  a  star,  his  gaze  traveled  to  the  taper  in  the  room 
above.  An  instant  afterward  the  curtain  fell  from  his 
grasp,  and  he  turned  away. 


368 


CHAPTER  VIII 

SIBYL 

THE  April  sunlight  was  shining  in  at  the  window 
when  he  woke  the  next  morning  and  looked  about 
him  with  that  peculiar,  half-painful  sensation  of  be- 
wilderment that  one  feels  on  first  opening  his  eyes 
after  a  night's  sleep  in  unfamiliar  surroundings.  As 
he  surveyed  the  wide  bed-chamber  with  its  stately 
and  somewhat  dreary  furnishings,  its  absence  of  the 
individual  note  which  James  had  evidently  made 
frantic  but  futile  efforts  to  atone  for  by  an  ostentatious 
display  of  Roger's  personal  belongings  scattered  here 
and  there,  his  first  thought  had  been  one  of  regret  for 
the  cheerier  apartment  but  lately  abandoned. 

As  he  went  down  the  stairs  the  chill  and  gloom  of 
the  long  halls  were  vault-like  to  his  senses,  and  he 
hurried  out  into  the  sunlight,  pausing  to  give  a  hint 
to  Aunt  Daphne  in  the  kitchen  as  he  passed  on  his 
way  into  the  garden,  with  the  hope  that  thus  encour- 
aged his  breakfast  would  be  the  sooner  in  forthcoming. 
But  it  was  presumption  born  of  inexperience,  as  he 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

soon  discovered.  Aunt  Daphne  was  not  a  person  to 
be  urged  to  precipitation  in  the  performance  of  those 
culinary  tasks  which  with  her  reached  almost  to  the 
dignity  of  a  religious  ceremonial.  Moreover,  it  was 
to  be  her  first  breakfast  for  the  young  master,  and  she 
intended  it  to  be  a  good  one. 

"Bless  Gawd!"  he  heard  her  muttering  as  she 
moved  about  the  kitchen,  between  low  chuckles  of 
laughter,  her  cracked  old  voice  floating  out  to  him 
through  the  open  window,  "Bless  Gawd,  ef  thar  ain' 
Miss  Sophie's  chile  talkin'  'bout  breakfast,  an'  I  ain' 
nuver  even  teched  de  feathers  on  dem  birds!" 

Seeing  that  there  was  little  likelihood  of  accelerating 
matters,  Roger  good-humoredly,  with  his  hands  in 
his  pockets  and  whistling  carelessly  to  himself,  went 
down  the  rear  steps  of  the  building  and  on  into  the 
sunny  space  beyond. 

At  first  sight  of  him,  mistaking  him  doubtless  for 
Uncle  Lish  with  their  breakfast,  the  dogs  made  a 
bound  forward  and  came  tearing  across  the  yard  at 
full  speed,  drawing  back  a  little  and  eyeing  him  sus- 
piciously, however,  as  soon  as  they  discovered  him. 
But  he  called  them  to  him,  and  bent  down  and  patted 
them,  and  they  were  quickly  won,  falling  upon  him 
with  a  gusto  which,  though  flattering,  was  also  slightly 
uncomfortable,  especially  when  they  all  made  a  rush 
at  him  at  once. 

370 


SIBYL 

"See  here,  you  fellows,  five  against  one,  it's  hardly 
fair,  you  know!"  cried  Roger,  with  a  laugh,  struggling 
to  his  feet,  and  almost  stumbling  over  a  little  three- 
weeks-old  white  and  tan  puppy  that,  hearing  the  great 
commotion,  had  come  toddling  after  the  rest. 

As  he  pushed  them  off,  all  at  once  he  was  conscious 
of  a  voice  near  by  —  a  woman's  voice,  low  and  sweet, 
and  singing  in  the  tender,  disjointed,  half-confidential 
fashion,  as  if  to  an  unseen  presence,  that  is  peculiarly 
feminine  and  which  women  sometimes  fall  into  when 
bending  over  their  sewing  or  when  tucking  sleepy 
little  forms  into  bed.  Now  and  then  it  broke  off 
entirely  and  seemed  to  be  borne  away  on  the  cool 
morning  breeze  like  a  thing  too  fine  and  beautiful  to 
linger;  but  a  moment  after  it  would  begin  again,  and 
come  floating  toward  him,  though  always  from  a  dif- 
ferent quarter. 

With  a  sudden  tightening  of  the  muscles  about  the 
mouth,  Roger  straightened  himself  and  looked  toward 
his  neighbor's  garden.  There  was  a  tall  osage  orange 
hedge  between  the  two  places  where  the  respective 
plots  began  to  slope  away  from  the  buildings,  and  in 
the  center  of  the  hedge  there  was  a  little  arched  gate- 
way which  the  colonel  had  had  made  for  the  con- 
venience of  Judge  Fontaine  and  Sibyl  when  they  should 
desire  to  visit  informally  their  old  friend. 

Until  that  instant  Roger  had  not  observed  the  tiny 
371 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

gateway,  and  he  stood  looking  toward  it  with  an  ex- 
pression dazed  and  vaguely  troubled,  as  once  more 
the  song  traveled  to  him  as  from  some  one  bending 
over  a  near-by  bed  of  flowers. 

He  was  turning  away  when  suddenly  the  arch  framed 
a  picture,  and  Sibyl  stood  before  him,  while  the  same 
caressing  voice  asked  cheerfully: 

"  Uncle  Lish,  is  Shot  any  better  this  morning  ?  " 

She  wore  a  white  pique  gown  and  lawn  waist,  and 
she  carried  in  her  hand  a  huge  nosegay  of  hyacinths 
and  daffodils  which  she  was  intent  upon  rearrang- 
ing. 

"  I  thought  I  heard  him  whining  a  little,"  she  added, 
absently,  with  her  gaze  on  her  flowers,  "when  I  first 
came  out." 

Roger  stared  dumbly,  rendered  speechless  equally 
by  her  unexpected  presence  and  the  great  change 
that  he  beheld  in  her,  the  wondrous  blossoming  whereby 
the  depth  and  sweetness  of  her  womanhood  stood 
revealed.  She  seemed  years  older  than  when  he  last 
saw  her,  and  far  more  beautiful.  The  soft  rounding 
that  time  had  given  to  her  girlish  contours;  the  more 
wistful  seriousness  in  the  violet  eyes  at  war  with  the 
piquant  archness  of  the  warm  red  mouth;  the  glimmer 
of  the  sunlight  on  her  blue-black  hair,  and  the  healthful 
whiteness  of  her  skin,  all  flashed  upon  him  in  an  in- 
stant, and  he  dropped  his  eyes  and  then  looked  quickly 

372 


SIBYL 

away,  abashed  and  undecided,  a  painful  self-con- 
sciousness making  him  powerless  to  utter  a  word. 

She  was  still  intent  on  the  flowers,  and  unobservant, 
and  as  she  twisted  and  turned  them  to  her  liking  several 
hyacinths  fell  from  her  hands  to  the  ground,  thus 
distracting  her  attention  from  her  inquiry. 

He  sprang  quickly  forward  to  restore  them,  and 
something  in  the  alertness  of  the  movement,  in  strange 
contrast  with  what  she  had  expected  from  Uncle  Lish's 
stiffened  joints,  caused  her  to  look  up  wonderingly. 

She  drew  back  with  a  little  cry  of  amazement  and 
confusion.  Then  speedily  collecting  herself  she  held 
out  her  hand,  smiling  softly.  There  was  a  large 
sympathy  in  her  complete  ignoring;  and  in  her  straight- 
forward earnestness  and  self-forgetfulness  there  was 
something  so  broad  and  sweet  and  kindly  that  it 
seemed  to  lift  her  immediately  out  of  all  relation  to 
age  or  sex. 

"  Oh ! "  she  exclaimed,  "  is  it  you  —  really  you  ? 
But  I  thought  you  were  not  to  come  for  days  and 
days." 

"I  came  last  night,"  said  Roger,  not  meeting  her 
eyes.  He  took  the  hand  she  gave  him,  but  released  it 
instantly,  a  sudden  stiffening  coming  into  his  manner. 

But  she  did  not  seem  to  notice.  She  was  trembling 
a  little  still  from  the  surprise  he  had  given  her,  and  a 
soft  pink  like  the  inner  lining  of  a  sea-shell  lingered 

373 


in  her  cheeks ;  but  her  gaze  was  as  fearless  and  direct 
as  a  little  child's.  It  was  evident  that  she  meant  at 
once  to  establish  a  basis  between  them  that  would 
relieve  him  of  all  constraint,  and  that  the  best  way 
toward  the  accomplishment  of  this  seemed  to  her  to 
lead  through  a  tactful  avoidance.  She  would  have 
liked  to  make  some  simple  reference  to  the  changes, 
but  as  the  circumstances  precluded,  it  appeared  the 
better  course  to  spare  —  everything. 

"  Last  night  ?  "  she  echoed.  "  I  am  so  sorry  that  we 
didn't  know.  Father  would  surely  have  gone  over  to 
welcome  you  as  a  neighbor,  and  I  shall  dread  to  tell 
him  that  you  spent  your  first  evening  in  such  lonely 
fashion.  He  is  very  eager  for  a  long  talk  with  you." 

Roger  was  silent  a  moment.  In  the  honeysuckle 
vines  near  by  a  red  bird  was  saying  a  prolonged  good-by 
to  his  mate,  breaking  forth  all  at  once  into  such  a 
flood  of  broken-hearted  and  impetuous  melody  that 
they  both  involuntarily  looked  up  to  listen. 

"  The  judge  has  been  always  most  kind  to  me,"  said 
Roger,  at  length,  with  his  eyes  still  on  the  ground. 
He  had  grown  very  pale,  and  the  distance  that  he 
seemed  to  be  trying  to  keep  up  between  them  was 
accentuated  by  the  dulness  of  the  tone  hi  which  he 
spoke.  But  Sibyl  gave  no  heed. 

"Oh,  but  he  is  so  fond  of  you,"  she  responded, 
simply;  "  he  quite  regards  you  as  one  of  his  best  friends 

374 


SIBYL 

\ 

—  the  very  best,  and  he  has  already  been  three  times 
to  see  you,  twice  to  your  office,  and  once  to  your  home. 
Each  time  he  missed  you,  and  came  back  looking  so 
dejected  that  I  had  to  beg  him  to  read  me  four  long 
chapters  of  the  history,  just  to  divert  him.  I  know 
them  almost  by  heart,  for  he  always  reads  everything 
to  me  over  and  over,  but  it  seemed  to  help  him  won- 
derfully, although  I  could  not  flatter  myself  that  I 
was  half  so  satisfactory  a  listener  as  you  would  have 
been." 

"How  is  the  history  coming  on?"  asked  Roger, 
quickly,  grasping  at  a  change  of  subject  and  smiling, 
compelled  to  a  momentary  self-forgetfulness  by  the 
picture  that  she  drew.  One  of  the  sweetest  things 
about  her  had  seemed  to  him  the  naive  way  with  which 
she  threw  herself  into  the  judge's  historical  and 
genealogical  research. 

"  The  history  ?  "  she  cried,  gaily.  "  It  is  coming  on 
finely.  He  has  almost  finished  the  period  relating  to 
the  pioneers,  and  is  about  to  enter  upon  the  struggle 
for  independence  from  Virginia.  It  is  going  to  be  a 
terrible  time,  and  I  shall  have  many  heartaches  for 
those  poor  dead  Kentuckians  of  the  long  ago,  who  had 
to  wait  so  many  years  before  they  could  become  a 
state.  He  did  much  of  his  best  work  while  we  were 
in  Rome ;  and  while  I  was  dreaming  of  the  ancients,  he 
was  dreaming  of  Kentucky.  He  worked  everywhere 

375 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

we  went,  and  I  am  sure  he  didn't  see  anything  half 
so  entertaining  to  him  as  the  first  glimpse  he  had  of 
his  beloved  bluegrass  from  the  car  window." 

Roger  looked  up  quickly.  "  And  you  —  were  you 
sorry  to  come  back?" 

She  hesitated.  "  A  little  —  just  a  little,"  she  an- 
swered, and  for  the  first  time  there  was  a  slight  betrayal 
of  constraint. 

She  turned  away  and  her  gaze  wandered  to  the  great 
white  house  beyond.  "We  would  have  come  back 
sooner,"  she  said,  presently,  very  softly,  "if  we  had 
known  of  the  colonel's  illness.  He  never  mentioned  it, 
though  he  wrote  constantly.  Father  and  I  both  loved 
him  dearly.  How  we  shall  miss  him!" 

A  mist  had  gathered  in  her  eyes,  and  she  went  on 
quickly.  "  He  was  so  alive,  such  a  distinct  personality, 
that  I  had  never  realized  that  he  actually  could  die; 
and  though  he  was  so  old  I  seemed  to  think  I  should 
have  him  always.  Everything  here  is  associated  with 
him;  that  is  his  chair  up  on  that  porch,  here  is  his 
bench  under  this  tree,  and  I  can  almost  see  the  tall 
form  over  there  by  the  kennels  swearing  at  the  dogs 
for  being  too  audaciously  frolicsome.  You  know  — 
and  all  at  once,  by  one  of  those  swift  transitions  that 
sometimes  swept  over  her,  her  whole  face  twinkling 
with  archness  — "  you  know  he  just  couldn't  help 
swearing  once  in  a  while,  the  poor  old  dear ! " 

376 


SIBYL 

Roger  threw  back  his  head  and  something  like  the 
boyish  laughter  of  other  days  broke  from  him. 

"He  surely  couldn't,"  he  replied,  grimly. 

"  But  it  was  such  an  aristocratic,  picturesque  sort  of 
swearing,"  returned  Sibyl,  still  bubbling  over  with 
amusement,  "  and  I  am  sure  he  didn't  mean  the  least 
little  bit  of  harm  by  it." 

Upon  this  point  Roger  was  not  quite  so  decided, 
but  he  said  nothing,  and  all  at  once  Sibyl  caught  her- 
self up.  "I  really  must  go,"  she  said,  "and  I  hope 
I  haven't  kept  you  from  your  breakfast.  Lawyers 
have  to  have  early  breakfasts,  don't  they,  when  court 
is  going  on  ?  " 

"They  do,  but  they  don't  always  get  it,"  replied 
Roger,  ruefully,  with  a  glance  in  the  direction  of 
Aunt  Daphne's  domains. 

"But  you  know  the  colonel  never  had  breakfast 
until  nearly  ten." 

"Good  gracious!  You  don't  think  she  is  pre- 
meditating anything  like  that  against  me,  do  you  ?  " 

Sibyl  shook  her  head.     "I  shouldn't  wonder." 

"But  it  is  absolutely  imperative  that  I  should  be 
in  the  court  room  by«cine  o'clock,"  said  Roger,  genu- 
inely alarmed. 

"You  are  ' jes1  'bleeged'  to  be  there,  as  Uncle  Lish 
would  say,  aren't  you  ? "  commented  Sibyl,  giving 
him  little  comfort  by  her  cheerful  acquiescence.  Her 

377 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

blue  eyes  were  quite  grave,  but  the  corners  of  her 
mouth  were  twitching  suspiciously. 

"I  never  dreamed  that  James  would't  be  able  to 
make  her  understand,"  said  Roger,  still  serious,  and 
seeing  no  joke  at  all  in  a  situation  that  threatened  dire 
things  to  his  client.  "Tell  me,"  with  a  nod  that  was 
intended  to  indicate  the  presiding  genius  of  his  kitchen, 
"is  she  really  a  very  terrible  sort  of  person?  I  am 
horribly  afraid  of  her." 

"You'd  better  be.  Don't  you  know  that  she  has 
always  ruled  this  house  with  a  rod  of  iron  ? " 

Roger  looked  completely  crushed. 

"Then  there  is  just  no  help  at  all  for  me,"  he  an- 
swered, dolefully,  recalling  the  methods  of  the  high- 
handed old  gentleman  who  had  preceded  him,  and 
who,  if  unable  to  cope  with  such  oppression,  surely 
left  little  grounds  for  confidence  in  the  breast  of  less 
daring  mortals. 

"Oh,  yes,  there  is,"  cried  Sibyl,  charmingly, 
"you  can  come  over  and  have  breakfast  with  father 
and  me.  Ours  is  just  ready  now.  Since  we  have 
been  writing  the  history  we  rival  the  lark  as  early 
risers."  • 

His  face  changed  quickly.  He  started  and  stiffened 
again  instantly,  growing  painfully  self-conscious,  while 
a  hot  flush  mounted  to  his  forehead  and  then  slowly 
receded,  leaving  him  very  pale  and  stilL  Through 

378 


SIBYL 

her  determined  friendly  ease  and  freedom  from  em- 
barrassment he  had  unconsciously  accepted  the  atti- 
tude which  from  the  first  she  had  maintained  —  that 
of  one  human  being  toward  another  human  being 
brought  within  each  other's  radius  solely  by  the  claims 
of  neighborliness  and  of  a  mutual  kindly  feeling. 
And  with  an  exquisite  tact  that  seemed  to  lead  him  as 
gently  over  the  rough  places  of  memory  that  kept  pro- 
truding as  a  mother  might  lead  a  troubled  child  along 
a  rugged  pathway,  she  had  accomplished  it;  so  that  by 
her  naturalness  and  straightforward  sincerity  she  had 
for  the  moment  lulled  him  into  a  sort  of  forgetfulness 
of  his  past. 

"Won't  you  come?"  she  insisted,  smiling.  "We 
are  to  have  waffles  and  maple  syrup.  You  like  waffles 
and  maple  syrup,  don't  you?" 

"  Immensely." 

"  Then  you  will  accept  ?  " 

"I  am  afraid  I  cannot,"  he  answered,  gravely. 

"Remember  your  poor  trusting  client!" 

"I  do  remember,"  he  said. 

"And  be  not  scornful  of  the  despotism  of  Aunt 
Daphne.  Your  breakfast  has  not  even  begun  to  be 
cooked  yet,  I  am  perfectly  certain." 

"I  am  afraid  you  are  only  too  correct  about  it," 
replied  Roger,  with  a  despairing  glance  kitchen- 
ward, 

379 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

"Then  do  be  warned  and  come  with  us.  It  will  be 
far  safer." 

He  met  her  eyes  for  the  briefest  possible  space. 
Then  he  quickly  looked  away,  and  with  an  expression 
whose  somber  humorousness  was  but  an  outward 
cloak  for  an  inward  rebellion,  his  gaze  wandered  once 
more  in  the  direction  of  the  buxom  sable  figure  pass- 
ing to  and  fro  in  front  of  one  of  the  rear  windows.  He 
broke  into  a  short,  discordant  laugh. 

"It  will  be  far  safer  not  to,"  he  said,  abruptly. 


380 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  INVISIBLE  BOND 

IT  was  in  the  twilight  of  an  afternoon  a  few  days 
later,  as  Roger  was  returning  home  from  his  office, 
that  the  two  men  came  upon  each  other,  apparently 
by  accident,  but  in  reality  through  deep  design  on  the 
part  of  the  judge. 

"  Well  met,  my  boy ! "  he  exclaimed,  heartily,  as  he 
suddenly  emerged  from  a  drugstore  on  a  corner  that 
Roger  would  most  likely  pass,  and  bustled  up,  well- 
groomed,  elegant,  and  fresh-faced  as  a  boy,  holding 
out  a  slim,  graceful  hand  that  grasped  the  one  out- 
stretched to  it  with  a  cordiality  that  was  not  to  be 
gainsaid.  "How  does  the  world  go  with  you?"  he 
began  at  once,  and  then  before  Roger  could  reply,  he 
hurried  on,  "I  hear  that  you  won  your  great  case. 
Caldwell  has  told  me.  It  was  a  magnificent  triumph, 
sir  —  a  magnificent  trumph,  but  no  more  than  was 
to  be  expected  from  the  descendant  of  your  distin- 
guished sires.  I  should  like  much  to  talk  over  cer- 
tain points  in  relation  to  it.  Bless  me,  when  I  see 

381 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

you  young  fellows  in  the  thick  of  it  I  am  sorely  tempted 
to  go  back  and  have  a  fling  at  you." 

"  I  wish  you  would,  sir,"  responded  Roger,  gallantly, 
"  it  doesn't  do  a  fellow  any  harm  to  get  knocked  down 
once  in  a  while,  and  I've  no  doubt  that  you'd  teach  the 
last  one  of  us  a  thing  or  two,  the  oldest  and  the  wisest." 

"  I  confess,"  said  the  judge,  confidentially,  and  in  his 
prim  but  stately  fashion,  "  that  the  courtroom  still  has 
strong  attractions  for  me  that  at  times  I  find  it  hard 
to  resist,  but  I  should  dislike  to  have  Sibyl  know  that 
I  ever  waver  in  my  allegiance  to  the  history.  She  was 
convinced  that  my  health  was  suffering  under  the 
strain  of  a  somewhat  arduous  practice  that  soon  came 
to  me  after  my  retirement  from  the  bench,  and  it  was 
through  her  persuasions,  as  you  may  know,  that  I 
abandoned  the  law.  However,  it  was  only  after  she 
had  discovered  that  I  was  sitting  up  more  than  half 
the  night  and  rising  at  daybreak  to  add  a  little  to  that 
sum  of  knowledge  in  the  way  of  historical  investigation 
which  from  a  boy  I  have  been  accumulating,  that  she 
pronounced  the  verdict." 

"  It  was  a  wise  decision,  judge,"  said  Roger,  as  they 
walked  on,  with  the  modest  though  firm  conviction 
that  always  ingratiated  him  strongly  in  the  favor  of 
older  men.  "  You  would  find  the  bar  greatly  changed 
since  your  day,  and  you  would  be  haunted  by  the  old 
memories  continually." 

382 


THE   INVISIBLE    BOND 

The  judge's  face  grew  softly  sad.  "Ah,  the  memo- 
ries —  the  memories ! "  he  murmured.  "  How  they 
come  flocking  into  the  mind,  fair  and  spotless  —  like  a 
flight  of  white-winged  birds  following  hard  upon  one 
another  —  at  mention  of  the  most  trivial  thing  in 
relation  to  the  past.  Time  is  the  greatest  of  all  artists, 
and  the  picture  that  he  paints  for  us  is  one  that  only 
grows  softer  and  more  beautiful  as  the  years  go  by. 
How  he  tones  down  life's  uglinesses  and  exalts  the 
human  stature!  All  large  men  are  giants  when  seen 
through  memory's  mist;  and  there  were  few  pygmies 
among  those  with  whom  I  used  to  practice.  Why,  my 
dear  boy,"  he  cried,  waxing  more  animated  as  his 
thoughts  continued  to  travel  backward,  "I  could  tell 
you  stories  of  the  old  Lexington  bar  —  of  Johnson,  and 
Huston,  and  Buckner,  and  the  two  Kinkeads,  and 
Hunt,  and  Harrison,  and  Beck,  and  Breckinridge  — 
of  their  wit,  and  eloquence,  and  learning,  that  would 
keep  you  awake  till  cock-crow." 

*'  I  should  surely  delight  to  hear  them,"  said  Roger, 
cordially,  but  at  the  same  time  making  a  movement  of 
turning  in  at  his  own  home,  which  they  had  just 
reached,  and  lifting  his  hat  in  token  of  departure. 

But  the  judge  laid  violent  hands  upon  him.  Antici- 
pating the  intention  of  the  young  man,  he  took  a  quick 
step  forward  and  with  a  countenance  that  was  not  to 
be  moved  by  either  argument  or  entreaty,  calmly 

383 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

interposed  his  slender  person  between  Roger  and  the 
gateway,  nearly  upsetting  his  top  hat  in  his  vehemence, 
and  letting  his  cane  fall. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,  sir  —  not  a  bit  of  it ! "  he  cried,  with 
sudden  energy.  "  You  are  to  dine  with  us  this  evening, 
and  you  need  offer  no  objection.  I  was  expecting  a 
friend  from  Louisville  who  has  disappointed  me,  and 
there  is  a  special  feast  prepared.  You  must  share  it. 
Sibyl  will  have  out  her  prettiest  old  silver  candelabra, 
and  you  will  dine  by  the  light  of  wax  candles  upon 
strawberries  served  in  cut-glass  that  was  once  the 
pride  of  her  great-great-grandmother." 

Roger  reached  for  the  fallen  cane  and,  having  re- 
stored it,  was  beginning,  "  The  prospect  is  most  alluring, 
judge,  but  —  "  when  the  judge  interrupted  shortly. 

"Tut,  tut!"  he  exclaimed,  with  something  very  like 
a  show  of  real  indignation  in  his  voice.  "  Do  you  think 
I  am  going  to  allow  my  will  to  be  thwarted  by  a  young- 
ster like  you  ?  I  don't  propose  to  let  you  live  the  life 
of  a  hermit,  sir,  and  you  may  as  well  resign  yourself 
at  once.  Your  grandfather  in  his  younger  days  was 
one  of  the  most  genial  of  diners-out  that  I  can  remember. 
He  had  a  very  remarkable  fund  of  anecdote  and, 
though  he  was  peevish  upon  some  points  and  liable  to 
flare  up  on  occasion,  he  was  always  the  most  acceptable 
of  guests.  Well  do  I  recall  the  time  that  the  president 
of  Princeton  University  —  Princeton  College  it  was 

384 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

then  —  was  in  our  midst,  and  a  great  dinner  was  given 
in  his  honor.  Your  grandfather  was  the  life  of  the 
occasion,  and  the  president  remarked  after  returning 
to  the  East  that,  though  he  had  traveled  far  and  made 
the  acquaintance  of  men  of  high  station  in  all  quarters 
of  the  globe,  he  had  met  in  his  experience  with  no 
more  princely  representative  of  the  gentleman  of  the 
old  school  than  Colonel  Theophilus  Hart." 

At  this  flood  of  reminiscence  Roger  stood  helpless 
and  confused,  longing  to  make  his  escape  from  what 
only  too  plainly  portended,  yet  dreading  to  offend. 

"I  am  sure,"  continued  the  judge,  in  his  most 
Johnsonian  English,  and  with  a  note  of  finality  in  the 
words  that  seemed  to  imply  that  the  discussion  was 
ended,  "  that  you  will  accede  to  my  wishes  when  I  tell 
you  that  I  greatly  desire  your  comment  in  relation  to 
certain  chapters  of  the  history  recently  written." 

"  I  shall  be  pleased  to  hear  them,"  replied  Roger, 
meekly,  realizing  that  the  game  was  up. 

"Then  we  will  hurry  on,"  said  the  judge,  grasping 
Roger's  arm  the  more  firmly. 

The  amusement  which  all  along  had  been  vying 
with  a  more  serious  emotion  all  at  once  came  to  the 
surface,  and  Roger,  feeling  the  clutch  of  the  judge's 
hand  on  his  arm  tightening  as  if  it  held  something 
uncertain  and  fluttering,  liable  at  any  moment  to  take 
flight,  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed  aloud,  his 

385 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

voice  dying  down  into  something  of  the  same  mocking 
bitterness  that  Sibyl  had  heard  in  it  when  she  proffered 
her  invitation.  An  instant  afterward  he  was  quite 
grave  again  as  he  paused. 

"  I  will  come  with  pleasure,  judge,"  he  responded,  as 
graciously  as  he  knew  how,  adding,  "but  you  must 
let  me  go  in  and  put  on  my  dinner  coat." 

The  judge's  little  trot  came  to  a  halt.  "Your 
dinner  coat  ? "  he  inquired,  most  seriously,  but  with  a 
slight  twitching  of  the  muscles  about  the  mouth  that 
brought  Sibyl  strangely  to  mind.  "  Well,  I  suppose," 
taking  out  his  watch  and  regarding  it  critically,  "  I 
suppose  I  shall  have  to  grant  a  humble  request  like 
that  since  it  seems  to  be  reasonable.  It  is  now  a 
quarter-past  six.  We  dine  at  seven.  I  give  you  half 
an  hour.  But  mind  you  — "  and  the  judge's  counte- 
nance was  ferocious  again  though  his  eyes  twinkled, 
"  if  I  don't  hear  your  steps  at  my  front  door  at  the  end 
of  it,  I  will  send  a  special  delegation  after  you,  com- 
manded to  fetch  you,  though  you  should  be  in  your 
shirt  tail!" 

It  was  dark  as  Roger  went  up  the  steps  of  the  judge's 
mansion,  and  he  had  been  surprised  to  see  that  the 
lights  in  the  street  and  from  the  houses  on  either  side 
shone  upon  a  thin  fall  of  snow  that  lay  upon  the 
young  bluegrass  and  all  the  tender  green  of  the  newly 

386 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

resplendent  earth  like  a  bridal  veil  encircling  a  nereid's 
verdant  hair.  Since  two  o'clock  the  mercury  had 
dropped  twenty  degrees,  threatening  a  melancholy 
blight  to  the  fruit  trees  now  in  full  bloom  and  to  the 
wheat  fields.  The  flurry  of  snow  and  wind  that  had 
taken  place  while  he  was  dressing  had  nearly  sub- 
sided, and  the  night  was  likely  to  be  clear  and  cold. 

He  was  ushered  into  the  library  where  a  wood  fire 
burned  upon  the  hearth,  and  where  the  judge  sat 
anxiously  awaiting  him,  the  evening  paper  spread  out 
on  his  knee.  But  he  had  evidently  not  been  reading 
it,  the  events  of  the  present,  however  stirring,  having 
only  a  mild  interest  for  him  in  comparison  with  those 
of  the  past. 

"  Ah ! "  he  cried,  smiling,  the  flash  of  his  white,  even 
teeth  giving  a  sudden  brilliancy  to  his  face  as  its 
thoughtfulness  relaxed,  "  I  am  glad  that  I  did  not  have 
to  put  my  threat  into  execution;  and  it  is  always  a 
wise  man  that  submits  gracefully  to  the  inevitable. 
Have  this  chair,  my  boy,  the  night  is  cold." 

"It  is  most  unfortunately  so,"  said  Roger,  senten- 
tiously,  as.  he  took  the  proffered  seat  near  the  fire. 

The  judge's  face  at  once  grew  serious.  "Yes,  the 
fruit  will  surely  be  killed,"  he  remarked,  "and  I  am 
afraid  that  many  of  the  crops  will  suffer.  Some  of 
them  are  already  far  advanced,  I  am  told." 

The  knob  of  the  door  turned  softly  and  Sibyl  entered 
387 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

in  her  creamy  silk  gown  —  all  that  was  to  be  seen  of 
her,  that  is,  for  she  was  almost  hidden  behind  a  great 
armful  of  pink  and  white  blossoms  out  of  which  her 
fresh  face  peeped  like  the  incarnation  of  the  spring- 
time. 

She  stood  a  moment  glancing  from  her  father  to  his 
guest,  giving  to  Roger  a  friendly  nod  that  seemed  to 
accept  his  presence  as  quite  the  most  natural  of  occur- 
rences, and  that  graciously  extended  her  hospitality 
without  rendering  it  at  all  pronounced;  and  then, 
with  a  little  sorrowful  shaking  of  the  head  and  a  soft 
sighing,  she  bent  her  cheek  down  to  the  snow-be- 
sprinkled sprays. 

"  I  have  been  out  in  the  garden,  and  I  have  brought 
back  —  these ! "  she  exclaimed. 

The  judge  came  forward  with  anxiety.  "So  we 
perceive,  my  dear,  so  we  perceive.  I  hope  that  my 
daughter  hasn't  got  her  feet  wet  ?  " 

She  quickly  crossed  the  room  and  began  arranging 
the  blooms  in  the  tall  vases  on  the  pier-table,  and 
she  threw  him  a  loving,  sidelong  glance  over  her 
shoulder. 

"It  is  not  your  daughter  you  see  before  you;  it  is 
Niobe,  weeping  this  time  for  the  little  dead  children 
of  the  spring." 

"Well,  my  dear,  she  may  have  wept  herself  into  a 
stone  like  the  daughter  of  Tantalus,  but  'the  April's 

388 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

in  her  eyes, '  '  the  April's  in  her  eyes,' "  responded  the 
judge,  softly. 

Roger  wheeled  a  chair  for  her  before  the  fire,  and 
stood  waiting  while  she  lingered  over  her  task,  and  the 
judge  hovered  about  her  like  a  fussy  old  woman  with 
his  inquiries.  Had  she  had  a  cloak  about  her?  Had 
she  thought  to  protect  her  feet?  Had  she  wound  a 
scarf  about  her  head?  In  his  day  he  had  never  liked 
to  see  a  woman  in  the  night  air  without  a  scarf,  he 
said;  and  in  his  opinion  much  athletics  had  made  the 
modern  young  person  far  too  daring  of  the  elements. 

She  answered  gaily,  evading  when  she  could  not 
fully  satisfy;  and  finally  she  came  back  and  accepted 
Roger's  proffered  chair.  As  she  sank  into  it  and 
stretched  out  her  prettily  shod  feet  to  the  fire  he  saw 
that  the  soles  of  her  shoes  were  quite  damp. 

"I  really  did  forget,"  she  whispered  in  friendly 
confidence  and  with  a  furtive  glance  toward  the  remote 
corner  of  the  room. 

"  It  is  very  evident,"  replied  Roger,  smiling,  with  his 
eyes  on  the  little  circle  of  vapor  rising  from  her  moist 
slippers.  He  was  struggling  manfully  to  be  simple 
and  self-forgetful,  and  there  was  that  in  her  uncon- 
scious dignity  and  sweetness  and  delicate  aloofness 
that  compelled  him  to  something  like  her  serenity  of 
spirit,  though  not  wholly. 

"And  it  was  perfectly  horrid  of  me,"  she  confessed, 
389 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

contritely,  *'  not  only  because  it  would  worry  him  if  he 
knew,  but  because  it  has  always  seemed  to  me  to  be 
quite  too  contemptible  to  be  reckless  with  one's  health. 
It  is  such  an  inexcusably  unthinking  thing  to  do  — 
such  an  unnecessary  hindering.  And  though  the 
*  body  at  its  best '  may  not  far  project  the  '  soul  on  its 
lone  way,'  still,"  —  and  over  her  face  there  fell  a  veil 
of  seriousness  shadowing  its  piquant  playfulness,  and 
her  eyes  wandered  thoughtfully  to  the  fire,  "still, 
'flesh  helps  soul,'  and  there  is  something  magnificent 
in  the  assistance  that  it  does  give,  don't  you  think 
there  is  ?  " 

She  was  sitting  in  her  father's  high-backed  Eliza- 
bethan chair,  her  smooth  dark  head  resting  against 
its  carved  spokes,  her  hands  quietly  folded  in  her  lap; 
and  something  in  her  repose  of  attitude,  and  in  the 
graceful  folds  of  her  soft  silk  gown  shimmering  in  the 
firelight,  gave  to  her  an  antique  grace  and  picturesque- 
ness  that  seemed  to  remove  her  like  some  beautiful 
old  portrait  from  the  fret  and  turmoil  of  a  prosaic 
day.  Yet  she  was  most  distinctly  a  product  of  the 
present. 

"Don't  you  agree  with  me?"  she  asked,  turning 
slowly  toward  him,  her  slim  neck,  rising  out  of  the 
creamy  lace  of  her  bodice,  all  at  once  straightening 
as  she  raised  herself  slightly  and  looked  him  directly 
in  the  face.  He  was  silent  and  she  went  on  quickly. 

390 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

"Respect  for  the  body,  the  right  degree  of  respect, 
is  one  of  the  soundest  theories,  I  think,  that  this  age 
has  evolved;  and  it  is  the  engrafting  of  the  Christian 
ideal  upon  the  old  pagan  conception  of  the  value  of 
the  physical."  There  was  something  strong  and  sweet 
and  steady  in  the  earnest  tones. 

He  started.  The  words,  chiming  in  so  strangely 
with  the  train  of  thought  that  ne  had  been  constantly 
following  up  of  late,  came  to  him  from  her  lips  with  an 
almost  overwhelming  significance;  and  it  was  as  if  one 
groping  toward  the  light  should  suddenly  feel  his  hand 
firmly  grasped  by  another  traveler,  bound  for  the  same 
goal,  and  surer  of  the  way. 

"I  have  been  thinking  about  that  recently,"  he  said, 
presently,  in  a  low  voice.  "It  seems  to  me  that  you 
are  right,  and  that  it  is  a  part  of  the  great  dominant 
idea  of  the  twentieth  century:  the  idea  of  solidarity, 
the  idea  of  unity,  which  we  are  struggling  toward  in 
all  the  supreme  relations  of  life  —  unity  between  the 
powers  of  man's  being,  unity  of  the  race,  unity  of 
the  human  with  the  Divine." 

She  was  studying  him  with  pleased,  sparkling  eyes. 

"Ah,  how  you  have  grown!"  she  cried,  making  the 
first  personal  reference  that  she  had  fallen  into,  and 
almost  thanking  him  with  the  tones  of  her  voice, 
something  in  her  look  and  manner  bringing  with  vivid 
distinctness  before  him  the  moonlight  scene  in  the  old 

391 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

garden  nearly  two  years  before.  What  a  little  mother 
she  had  been  in  her  attitude  toward  him  always! 

He  looked  away  and  dropped  the  subject  abruptly. 
In  Roger's  own  mind  there  was  one  point  he  had 
neglected  to  mention,  one  thing  that  he  had  not  dared 
to  touch  upon,  and  that  was  the  unity  between  man 
and  woman,  thoughts  of  which  in  relation  to  his  own 
situation  had  led  him  'up  to  the  more  general  ideas  he 
had  expressed. 

But  the  next  moment  dinner  was  announced  and  the 
judge,  lifting  his  white  head  from  his  papers,  came 
forward  in  high  good  humor,  prepared  to  show  himself 
once  more  the  most  genial  of  hosts.  His  own  table 
was  the  place  where  he  always  shone  resplendent;  and 
as  the  meal  progressed,  Roger  glancing  from  time  to 
time  into  his  clear-cut  patrician  face,  and  noting  the 
rare  good  looks  that  matched  the  rarer  sparkle  of  wit, 
the  exquisite  courtesy  that  bespoke  an  old-world  civili- 
zation, found  it  not  difficult  to  recognize  in  him  a 
descendant  of  the  Jacques  de  la  Fontaine,  of  whom 
King  Henry  of  Navarre,  uttering  his  accustomed  oath, 
exclaimed  on  first  beholding  him,  "Ventre  St.  Gris! 
he  is  the  handsomest  man  in  my  kingdom!" 

When  the  dessert  was  brought  on  there  was  a  flash 
of  pleasantry  by  means  of  which  even  Sibyl  was  for  a 
moment  deceived.  The  judge  glanced  down  at  the 
plate  of  strawberries  that  had  just  been  set  before  him 

392 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

with  a  gravity  that  scarcely  seemed  assumed,  studying 
it  with  curious  interest. 

"My  dear,  isn't  there  some  mistake?"  he  inquired 
of  Sibyl  across  the  table. 

The  girl  looked  up  quickly,  her  housewifely  instincts 
roused  to  instant  apprehension,  and  a  little  startled 
look  crept  into  her  blue  eyes.  She  waited. 

But  the  judge  was  still  attentively  regarding  his  plate. 

"Something  is  wrong,"  he  said,  shaking  his  head 
quite  solemnly. 

The  look  of  consternation  on  Sibyl's  features  deep- 
ened. Her  father  was  behaving  so  strangely.  Though 
the  occasion  was  informal,  still  it  scarcely  seemed  to 
her  to  justify  such  unconventionality  as  a  direct  refer- 
ence to  some  blunder  that  had  evidently  been  made 
either  with  regard  to  the  fruit  or  in  the  manner  of 
serving  it.  But  the  judge  lifted  his  head  and  she 
caught  the  merry  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

"I  have  given  Roger  my  word  that  he  should  dine 
upon  strawberries  served  in  cut-glass  that  once  belonged 
to  your  great-great-grandmother  Elizabeth,"  he  said. 

Roger  broke  into  laughter.  "I  release  you,  judge," 
he  cried,  immensely  relieved.  Once  more  Sibyl's  face 
was  a  ripple  of  good-humor. 

"Unfortunately,"  she  commented,  "my  great-great- 
grandmother  Elizabeth  is  not  always  so  interesting  a 
person  to  others  as  to  myself.  A  few  days  ago  I  was 

393 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

calling  Judith  Beverley's  attention  to  some  quaint  old 
silver  salt-spoons.  Shortly  afterward  I  offered  her 
some  pound  cake.  She  looked  at  it  suspiciously;  and 
then,  before  she  would  take  any,  she  asked,  'Who 
made  this  pound  cake  —  an  ancestor  ? ' " 

And  thus  the  subject  was  launched  that  led  by  such 
easy  gradations  to  the  history  that  there  was  small 
chance  for  the  discussion  of  any  other  topic  that 
evening.  When  they  returned  to  the  library  Sibyl 
lighted  the  student's  lamp  on  the  table,  and  the  beloved 
manuscript  was  brought  forth.  The  three  grouped 
themselves  about  the  room,  Sibyl  with  her  embroidery 
on  one  side  of  the  chimney-piece,  Roger  on  the  other, 
the  judge  sitting  midway  in  the  impassable  space  that 
separated  them,  like  the  calm  presence  of  personified 
law  holding  ever  before  their  eyes  the  scroll  on  which 
was  written  the  stern  reminder  of  the  invisible  bond. 
The  wood  fire  merrily  leaped  and  crackled  on  the 
hearth;  the  low,  melodious  voice  sonorously  rolled  out 
the  lengthy  periods  of  the  history;  while  outside  the 
night  grew  stiller  and  colder,  congealing  into  an  icy 
shroud  the  snow  that  lay  on  the  heart  of  every  tender 
bud  and  bloom. 


394 


CHAPTER  X 

THE   FATE   OF   FRANCIS   WALLER 

WHEN  Roger  came  down  the  steps  several  hours 
later  a  white  splendor  swathed  the  grass  and  trees, 
and  the  earth  was  very  beautiful  in  its  frozen  sleep, 
like  some  young  dead  thing  arrayed  in  a  robe  of  royalty. 
The  moon  was  shining,  but  with  a  sort  of  hard,  alien 
brilliancy,  and  hung  merciless  as  destiny  in  the  now 
cloudless  sky.  The  pale,  cold  light,  the  "rapture  of 
repose,"  the  deathlike  suggestion  smote  vaguely  upon 
his  senses  as  something  personal  to  himself,  and  acutely 
in  harmony  with  his  present  sufferings.  As  if  Love, 
not  his  own,  but  that  which  might  have  been  given 
him,  lay  slain  and  shrouded  before  his  very  eyes. 

But  he  was  almost  blinded  to  the  spectacle  by  the 
fierce  tumult  that  beat  within.  And  once  outside  the 
doorway,  the  long  repression,  which,  with  iron  resolu- 
tion he  had  been  exercising,  suddenly  gave  way,  and 
bis  face  grew  haggard  and  desperate.  The  strain  he 
had  been  undergoing  since  the  time  of  that  first  meeting 
with  Sibyl  after  her  return  had  taxed  his  strong  powers 

395 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

to  their  utmost  capacity  of  endurance,  until  to-night, 
despite  his  seeming  calm  when  with  her,  he  knew  that 
a  climax  had  been  reached,  and  that  he  must  not, 
dared  not,  trust  himself  to  see  her  once  again. 

The  appalling  realization  that  had  swept  down  upon 
him  on  that  morning  as  dumbly  he  looked  into  her 
eyes  had  burnt  itself  with  a  fiery  brand  into  his  heart 
and  brain ;  and  he  knew  that  the  hitherto  boyish,  poetic 
fancies  he  had  had  of  her  had  surrendered  to  a  feeling 
so  deep,  and  enduring,  and  overmastering  as  to  leave 
him,  like  Dante  on  beholding  Beatrice,  aghast  in  the 
presence  of  a  deity  stronger  than  he,  who,  coming, 
should  rule  over  him. 

For  with  him,  as  with  Dante,  Love  was  not  to  present 
himself  in  the  guise  of  a  roguish  boy,  but  with  masterful, 
full-grown  strength,  a  "  Lord  of  terrible  aspect,"  before 
whom  he  could  only  bow  in  awestruck,  dumb  sub- 
mission. It  was  adoration,  the  very  white  heat  of 
passion ;  and  this  arousing  in  him  —  immediately  after 
his  solemn  consecration  of  himself  to  principle  —  of 
an  emotion  so  profound,  and  so  irresistible,  was  but 
another  instance  of  the  temptation  in  the  wilderness 
following  hard  upon  the  baptism  of  the  spirit  that 
comes  to  all  high  natures. 

As  he  went  out  into  the  darkness,  and  made  his  way 
home,  the  subtle  charm  of  her  clinging  to  him  still  and 
thrilling  him  to  the  heart's  center,  her  beauty  of  soul 


FATE    OF    FRANCIS    WALLER 

and  of  mind  and  of  body  seemed  all  at  once  to  pierce 
him  like  a  spear;  and  suddenly  with  a  low  cry  he 
stretched  out  his  arms  as  to  an  invisible  presence,  and 
stood  with  bowed  head  as  if  waiting  a  response  to  his 
passionate  inward  call.  In  that  instant  there  existed 
for  him  in  all  the  universe  only  this  girl,  and  in  the 
whole  gamut  of  emotions  there  sounded  but  a  single 
note  concentrated  in  the  one  mad  longing  to  hold  her 
in  his  arms,  and  to  pour  out  his  very  soul  to  her  in  a 
transport  of  unhindered  devotion. 

For  several  moments  he  stood  there  —  under  the 
pitiless  moon.  But  presently  his  expression  changed 
abruptly.  The  light  in  his  eyes  faded.  Despair  had 
returned  to  him,  and  again  he  was  conscious,  in  its 
inexorableness,  of  a  situation  that  had  come  upon  him 
like  the  slow  and  terrible  working  out  of  an  old  Greek 
tragedy  whose  end  is  sure,  and  whose  beginning  has 
started  in  human  frailty.  Then  he  entered  the  great, 
solitary  abode  he  called  his  home,  and  turned  his  steps 
in  the  direction  of  the  library. 

A  few  embers  still  glowed  on  the  hearth,  and  mechan- 
ically he  threw  on  some  pieces  of  wood,  and  flung 
himself  into  the  chair  by  the  table. 

And  it  was  here  he  was  still  sitting,  rigid  from  cold 
and  clean  forespent,  when  the  morning  broke,  and  there 
was  ushered  in  a  day  which,  all  unknown  to  himself, 
was  to  make  his  name  a  topic  on  many  lips. 

397 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

Mrs.  Caldwell  hurried  up  the  steps  of  her  home  and 
on  through  the  doorway  with  an  agitation  that  ex- 
pressed itself  in  such  a  spasmodic  fluttering  of  her 
bright  adornment,  such  a  rustling  of  silken  skirts  and 
nodding  of  cerulean  plumes,  as  to  make  her  entrance 
resemble  nothing  so  much  as  the  sudden  flight  of  a 
bluebird  under  excitement. 

"Where  is  Mr.  Caldwell,  Millie?"  she  asked  the 
trim  young  negress  in  muslin  cap  and  apron  who  had 
come  running  to  answer  her  impatient  summons.  "  Oh, 
I  see,"  she  cried  as  her  glance  wandered  to  a  tiny 
room  a  few  steps  beyond  the  second  landing.  "In 
just  a  moment,  Tim,"  she  called  to  the  comfortable 
figure  sitting  with  a  book  beside  the  window. 

But  the  cheeriness  was  illy  assumed,  and  it  was  with 
an  increase  of  trepidation  that  she  speedily  swept  her 
flounces  up  the  remaining  steps  of  the  stairway  and 
passed  onward,  not  in  the  direction  of  her  husband, 
but  into  her  own  bedroom,  closing  the  door  firmly 
behind  her. 

She  glanced  at  the  clock.  She  had  been  one  of  the 
last  to  leave  the  tea,  and  it  was  nearly  seven.  Tim 
would  be  wondering  about  dinner.  But  she  was  not 
quite  ready  for  any  sort  of  conversation  with  him  yet, 
and  she  was,  in  truth,  shaken  to  the  very  foundations 
of  her  being  by  something  that  had  just  been  told  her, 
something  she  dreaded  inexpressibly  to  tell  him. 

398 


FATE    OF   FRANCIS    WALLER 

Since  that  morning  at  the  Beverleys  when  Judith 
had  poured  into  her  ear  a  tale  that  had  sent  her  home 
more  distinctly  miserable  than  she  recalled  having 
been  in  all  her  life  before,  she  had  become  self-con- 
scious and  disturbed,  feeling  the  burden  of  her  share  of 
responsibility  in  relation  to  Roger's  marriage  to  Marian 
a  veritable  albatross  about  her  neck,  while  all  prospect 
of  the  sort  of  satisfaction  attained  by  the  Ancient 
Mariner  when  rehearsing  his  woes  to  a  somewhat 
unwilling  Wedding  Guest  was  denied  her  because  of 
her  everlastingly  binding  oath. 

She  had  told  Tim  the  facts,  the  shocking  hideous 
facts,  just  as  Judith  had  given  them  to  her,  but  not 
until  days  afterwards  when  she  saw  that  his  curiosity 
with  regard  to  the  situation  had  been  aroused;  and 
she  trembled  at  the  recollection  of  the  deep  stirring 
of  emotions  the  recital  had  called  forth.  That  Tim 
secretly  held  her  to  some  degree  to  blame  had  become 
a  thought  that  tormented;  and  the  idea  had  grown 
until  at  the  bare  suggestion  of  any  reopening  of  the 
subject  she  found  herself  in  imagination  cowering 
before  her  husband  like  a  culprit  in  the  presence  of 
an  accuser.  But  finally  she  crossed  the  hall  and 
entered  the  little  room  where  he  sat  reading. 

"What  have  you  been  up  to  in  all  that  splendor?" 
he  asked,  as  he  hastened  to  adjust  a  cushion  back  of 
her  head. 

399 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

"A  tea  at  the  Beverleys." 

"  I'll  be  hanged  if  you  don't  look  completely  fagged 
out." 

"I  am  a  little  tired." 

He  arranged  the  pillows  a  little  more  comfortably, 
making  a  cheerful  grumbling  as  he  did  so. 

"  If  there  is  one  thing  above  another  on  God's  green 
earth  that  is  an  unfathomable  mystery  to  me,  and  that 
is  likely  to  remain  an  unfathomable  mystery  to  me,  I 
suppose,  to  the  end  of  the  chapter,  it  is  the  needless 
torture  you  women  inflict  upon  yourselves,"  he  ob- 
served, as  he  returned  to  his  chair. 

She  did  not  answer,  and  his  big  blonde  face  twinkled 
with  amusement  as  he  sat  leaning  his  chin  on  his 
elbow,  and  watching  her  in  a  sort  of  quizzical,  medita- 
tive fashion,  of  which,  however,  she  appeared  wholly 
unconscious. 

"Tim,"  she  said,  abruptly,  "Francis  Waller  and 
Marian  were  seen  together  in  Europe.  Not  long  ago 
one  of  his  Cincinnati  acquaintances  met  him  in  Lon- 
don. In  a  reckless  moment  he  acknowledged  every- 
thing one  night  when  under  the  influence  of  some  drug. 
The  man  told  his  wife,  and  she  wrote  the  whole  thing 
home  to  some  one  in  Cincinnati,  who,  as  it  happened, 
had  once  or  twice  seen  the  two  together  during  the 
time  that  Marian  used  to  go  there  for  music  lessons. 
Then  the  story  spread,  and  it  soon  reached  here,  and 

400 


FATE    OF    FRANCIS    WALLER 

after  Judith  knew  it,  it  meant  that  every  one  would 
know  it  —  until  this  afternoon  at  the  tea  it  was  the  one 
thing  talked  about.  Oh,  Tim,  isn't  it  just  terrible 
for  poor  Roger  ?  " 

But  she  was  deliberately  temporizing.  It  was  not 
that,  just  that,  she  had  come  to  tell  him;  something 
held  her  back  from  the  startling  communication  that 
a  natural  impulse  would  have  led  her  to  make  known 
instantly,  and  it  was  a  sort  of  morbid  and  desperate 
self-consciousness  that  made  her  eager  first  to  discover 
whether  he  really  did  have  any  sort  of  blame  for  her. 

Tim  Caldwell's  huge  form  stirred  uneasily,  and  his 
honest,  kindly  features  suddenly  blackened  ominously. 

"  Ada,  I  wish  to  God,"  he  said,  slowly  and  fervently, 
"that  you  had  never  married  him  off  to  that  red- 
haired  girl  you  had  here." 

She  drew  back  as  if  he  had  struck  her. 

"Please  do  not  say  that  I  married  him  to  her,"  she 
said,  quickly,  with  trembling  lips.  She  put  out  im- 
ploring hands,  and  waited  piteously. 

But  he  had  risen.  He  walked  over  to  the  window, 
and  she  knew  that  his  thoughts  had  returned  to  Waller, 
for  between  his  clenched  teeth  she  heard  him  mutter, 
"The  hound!  Great  God,  the  hound!" 

He  stood  looking  out  for  an  instant  in  the  gathering 
darkness,  his  heavy  brows  knit.  Suddenly  he  wheeled 
and  looked  her  in  the  eyes,  and  something  in  the 

401 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

strange  quietude  of  his  voice  made  her  blood  run 
cold. 

"Do  you  believe  Roger  knows  that  the  man  is 
Waller?"  he  demanded,  sternly. 

For  an  instant  she  hesitated,  then  she  said  in  a 
barely  audible  tone: 

"No;  I  am  quite  sure  that  he  does  not  know  " 

"Why?"  he  insisted. 

"  Because  I  met  him  on  my  way  home  from  the  tea, 
and  I  —  I  talked  with  him  —  and  I  —  I  am  sure, 
from  something  he  —  said  —  that  he  is  wholly  with- 
out suspicion." 

She  was  shivering  as  from  cold.  There  was  that 
in  his  manner  which  filled  her  with  actual  terror,  and 
after  she  had  spoken  there  was  a  moment  of  intense 
suspense. 

"No  one  could  tell  him  such  a  thing,"  she  supple- 
mented, quickly. 

Tim  Caldwell  stood  perfectly  still  in  the  center  of 
the  room,  and  all  at  once  he  raised  his  arm  and  held 
it  uplifted.  He  was  deadly  pale. 

"Then,  by  God,  I  shall  be  the  man  to  tell  him!" 
he  swore.  "And  if  he's  got  one  half  the  grit  in  him 
I  give  him  credit  for,  there'll  be  a  bullet  in  the  brain 
of  that  dastardly  cur  before  another  ten  days  have 
passed ! " 

Ada  Caldwell  sank  back  among  her  cushions 
402 


FATE   OF   FRANCIS    WALLER 

quivering  in  every  nerve,  and  with  such  a  sense  of  awe 
of  his  profound  feeling  that  for  a  moment  she  was 
completely  forgetful  of  the  climax  of  information  that 
she  was  yet  to  make  known  to  him. 

In  all  the  years  of  her  married  life  she  had  never 
seen  him  in  just  the  light  hi  which  he  appeared  to  her 
at  that  moment.  And  whether  she  most  shrank  from 
him  as  one  who,  under  conditions  of  such  provocation 
as  were  those  of  his  friend,  would  stain  his  hands  with 
the  blood  of  the  man  who  had  wronged  him,  or  ad- 
mired him  for  that  tremendous,  elementary  power  he 
had  just  displayed,  and  which  in  some  vague  way 
she  realized  was  to  be  traced  back  to  his  great  love 
for  her,  she  was  too  overwrought  clearly  to  decide. 

When  she  spoke  again  her  voice  sounded  hollow 
and  sepulchral. 

"Roger  is  spared  from  murder.  I  came  to  tell 
you—" 

He  suddenly  turned  and  faced  her  inquiringly. 

"Francis  Waller  has  committed  suicide  from  an 
overdose  of  morphine,"  she  said.  "  The  news  has  just 
reached  here." 


403 


CHAPTER  XI 

IN  WHICH  TWO  PERSONS  RECEIVE  A  SHOCK 

MRS.  CALDWELL  was  correct  in  supposing  that 
Roger  knew  nothing  of  the  part  that  Francis  Waller 
had  played  in  the  destruction  of  his  home;  and  but  for 
the  fact  that  Marian  was  never  even  remotely  in  his 
presence  referred  to  by  any  one,  Roger  would  have  had 
little  reason  to  suspect  that  rumor  was  at  all  concerned 
with  her  name.  Tim  Caldwell,  it  is  true,  meeting  him 
on  the  street  one  day,  had  plied  him  with  questions 
that  he  had  found  it  hard  to  answer.  But  the  honest, 
unsuspecting  inquiries  had  been  in  a  way  even  less 
trying  to  his  proudly  sensitive  nature  —  though  it  had 
led  to  the  avoidance  of  friends  whom  he  greatly  cared 
for  —  than  was  the  tactful  silence  of  others,  which 
told  him  only  too  plainly  that  suspicion  of  the  situa- 
tion was  rife. 

Waller's  tragic  death  had  brought  to  mind  the  occa- 
sion on  which  he  had  last  seen  him  more  than  a  year 
and  a  half  before;  and  the  recollection  was  especially 
in  his  thoughts  one  beautiful  afternoon  several  weeks 

404 


TWO  PERSONS  RECEIVE  A  SHOCK 

later  when  he  was  returning  by  way  of  the  interurban 
electric  railway  over  the  same  road  on  which  he  and 
Marian  had  driven  on  the  day  when  he  had  asked  her 
to  be  his  wife.  Business  had  taken  him  to  an  adjoin- 
ing town,  and  going  he  had  been  wholly  occupied  with 
the  matter  before  him.  But  as  he  was  returning, 
something  in  the  riotous  beauty  of  the  exquisite  stretch 
of  bluegrass  country  through  which  he  was  passing 
flashed  before  his  mental  vision  every  detail  of  that 
other  afternoon  of  such  profound  significance  to  him- 
self; and  once  more,  down  the  hill  in  the  late  summer 
sunset,  a  collie  following  at  his  heels,  came  the  care- 
fully dressed,  stoutly  built  figure  with  the  Vandyke 
beard;  and  once  more  he  saw  the  eager  fluttering  of 
Marian's  gauzy  veil  as  she  quickly  lifted  it  on  hearing 
who  it  was  that  was  approaching. 

Could  it  be  that  it  was  actually  only  a  year  and 
eight  months  since  he  sat  listening  to  their  badinage, 
a  half-angry  boy,  chafing  under  the  interview,  and 
impatient  to  be  done  with  it? 

As  the  car  passed  the  exact  spot  where  the  meeting 
with  Waller  had  taken  place,  he  raised  himself  and 
looked  steadily  out  of  the  window.  Everywhere 
there  were  the  gracious  signs  of  renewal,  the  activity 
of  things  animate  and  inanimate,  that  marks  the  com- 
ing of  the  springtide.  Barns  had  been  repainted, 
fences  had  been  whitewashed,  and  men  called  merrily 

405 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

to  one  another  across  the  freshly  ploughed  fields.  It 
was  an  idyllic  scene,  an  enchanting  blending  of  greens 
and  browns  and  misty  purple  hues;  while  far  away  in 
the  horizon  the  eye  wandered  to  a  dim  outline  of 
mighty  forest  trees  stretched  like  a  protecting  arm 
about  the  young  growing  things,  and  caught  the  part- 
ing rays  of  the  April  sun  late  lingering  as  if  loath  to 
leave  the  pregnant,  gladsome  earth. 

With  what  exuberance  of  spirits,  what  ecstatic  over- 
flow of  joy,  he  used  to  wake  up  to  the  consciousness 
of  the  return  of  spring,  just  as  if  within  him  too  the 
sap  were  rising!  He  recalled  that  his  mother  at  those 
times  had  sometimes  likened  him  to  a  young  colt  as 
he  would  come  bounding  into  her  presence.  How 
he  used  to  delight  to  lure  her  into  the  woods,  and 
when  she  attempted  excuses,  to  carry  her  off  forcibly 
into  the  sunshine!  How  long,  great  God,  how  long 
it  was  since  he  had  felt  and  acted  like  that! 

He  had  been  away  since  noon,  and  James  had  had 
orders  to  bring  whatever  mail  there  should  be  at  the 
office  and  put  it  on  the  table  in  his  library. 

On  entering  this  room  he  looked  about  him.  There 
were  no  letters.  But  lying  on  one  of  the  books  he 
had  lately  been  reading,  and  in  a  conspicuous  place 
on  the  table,  there  was  a  paper  addressed  to  him. 

He  picked  it  up  and  opened  it,  with  an  incompre- 
hensible sense  of  expectation,  and  immediately  his 

406 


TWO  PERSONS  RECEIVE  A  SHOCK 

i 

eye  fell  upon  the  portion  intended  to  attract  his  atten- 
tion, being  caught  by  the  heavy  ink  marks  that  lined 
it  up  and  down. 

He  read  a  sentence  or  two,  and  then  suddenly 
paused.  His  glance  leaped  down  the  page  and  rested 
there,  and  he  stood  still  as  a  stone.  Every  vestige  of 
color  had  fled  from  his  face.  His  eyes  were  wide 
with  horror,  and  a  heavy  perspiration  had  gathered 
on  his  brow. 

He  waited  a  moment,  and  then  once  more  he  held 
the  paper  to  the  light,  and  read  the  notice  through. 

Five,  ten  minutes  passed.  '  Still  he  stood  there,  not 
moving,  scarcely  breathing.  Every  muscle  seemed 
paralyzed;  even  his  power  to  think  had  deserted  him. 
He  was  completely  stunned. 

But  all  at  once  he  was  roused  by  the  striking  of  the 
clock  on  the  mantel.  As  one  dazed  he  listened,  count- 
ing the  strokes.  An  instant  afterward  he  crossed  the 
room  quickly  and  touched  the  bell.  James  appeared. 

He  turned  as  the  negro  entered  and  gave  his  orders 
in  a  low  voice  that  sounded  unfamiliar  even  to  himself. 

"Telephone  to  the  C  and  O  station  and  see  if  you 
can  get  a  berth  for  me,"  he  said,  "and  bring  my 
steamer  trunk  down  from  the  attic  and  pack  it,  and 
tell  Aunt  Daphne  I  must  have  dinner  at  once;  I  am 
leaving  this  evening  for  New  York."  And  before  the 
astonished  James  could  recover  himself  sufficiently 

407 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

from  the  surprise  of  the  announcement,  Roger  was 
hurrying  to  his  room  to  complete  the  necessary  arrange- 
ments attendant  upon  a  most  hastily  planned  departure. 

It  was  about  an  hour  and  a  half  afterwards  of  the 
same  evening  that  Judge  Fontaine  crossed  the  inter- 
vening space  between  his  house  and  that  of  Roger 
Boiling  and  softly  entered  without  ringing  the  doorbell. 
He  made  his  way  to  the  library,  and  stood  midway  in  the 
room,  giving  an  inquiring  glance  around  as  if  he  half 
demanded  an  apology  for  Roger's  unexpected  absence 
from  the  old  portraits  thai  calmly  looked  down  on  him 
from  the  walls. 

He  carried  in  his  hand  a  very  rare  volume  of  early 
Kentucky  history  written  in  1792  by  Gilbert  Imlay  — 
"  ever  memorable,"  to  quote  the  judge's  own  descriptive 
words,  "  as  the  lover  of  the  beautiful  but  hapless  Mary 
Wollstonecraf t " ;  and  with  punctilious  precaution  he 
wished  in  person  to  return  the  book  which  he  had 
borrowed,  placing  it  with  his  own  hands  in  the  exact 
spot  from  which  it  had  been  taken. 

Depositing  the  volume,  he  took  the  chair  beside  the 
table  in  which  he  supposed  Roger  had  just  been  sitting. 
Mechanically  he  reached  out  a  hand  for  something  to 
read  while  he  waited,  and  the  first  thing  it  fell  upon 
was  the  newspaper  that  had  dropped  from  Roger's 
trembling  hands  a  little  while  before. 

408 


TWO  PERSONS  RECEIVE  A  SHOCK 

He  put  on  his  glasses  and  began  to  read.  It  was  a 
London  newspaper  he  saw  at  once,  and  as  his  eye  ran 
down  the  columns  it  was  caught  by  the  heavy  ink 
marks  about  the  notice  which  Roger's  keener  vision 
had  instantly  turned  to. 

The  notice  was  headed,  "  Frightful  Holocaust,"  and 
it  was  a  description  of  the  burning  of  a  London  theatre 
in  which  many  lives  were  lost,  including  every  member 
of  the  company  that  had  been  giving  in  it  an  afternoon 
performance  of  a  light  popular  opera.  The  judge 
read  the  description  through,  caught  against  his  will 
by  something  graphic  and  tersely  dramatic  in  the 
relation  of  the  gruesome  details.  All  at  once  his  face 
blanched.  The  paper  fluttered  from  his  hands,  and 
with  a  smothered  exclamation  he  sprang  to  his  feet, 
staring  helplessly  about  him. 

"Bless  me!"  he  exclaimed,  snatching  up  the  paper 
again  and  fixing  his  gaze  upon  it.  "  Great  God,  how 
horrible ! " 

He  held  the  fluttering  pages  for  some  time  in  his 
hands,  no  longer  seeing  what  was  printed  upon  them. 
He  was  thinking  intently,  and  gradually  his  bewilder- 
ment gave  way  to  conviction.  For  there  was  a  list  of 
the  dead  mentioned,  and  in  it  one  name,  the  first 
his  glance  had  fallen  upon,  stood  out  as  if  written  in 
letters  of  fire  —  the  name  of  Marian  Day. 

Yet  might  there  not  be  a  doubt  ? 
409 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

The  judge  crossed  the  room  quickly  and  touched 
the  electric  bell.  It  was  a  long  time  before  there  was 
any  response,  but  finally  shambling  down  the  hall  came 
Uncle  Lish. 

"  I  hearn  you,  jedge,"  he  confessed,  apologetically,  as 
he  stood  bowing  in  the  doorway,  "  but  seem  lak  I  is  a 
slow  mover  dese  days,  an'  Jeems  he  al'ays  answers  de 
bell  whin  he's  heah,  an'  whin  he  ain'  I  des  has  to  ax 
Daphne  holp  me  into  my  coat  long  o'  de  rheumatiz,  an' 
arter  I  done  got  hit  on  I  ain'  ve'y  peert  an'  spry.  Lawd, 
Lawd,  but  dis  wo'ld  sho  is  full  o'  trouble." 

"  Where  is  Mr.  Roger,  Lish  ?  "  asked  the  judge,  going 
straight  to  the  point,  being  in  no  mood  for  generalities 
however  incontrovertible. 

The  negro  shook  his  head.  "He  ain'  heah,  jedge," 
he  answered,  sorrowfully.  "Dis  wo'ld  sho  is  full  o' 
trouble." 

"  How  long  has  he  been  gone  ?  " 

"'Tain'  long,  jedge,  he  an'  Jeems  shot  out  de  doo' 
an'  dey  wuz  gone  lak  de  win'.  Hit  sho  is  a  fine  thing 
to  have  a  big  strappin'  nigger  lak  dat  Jeems  to  wait 
on  him,  but  de  cun'l  he  knowed  dat  sense  ain'  al'ays 
in  a  pa'r  o'  legs,  an'  me  an'  Daphne  moughty  worritted. 
Daphne  she  have  sparrehgrass  soup,  an'  he  ain'  eat  no 
more'n  a  spoonful,  an'  she  have  spring  lam'  an'  mint 
sauce,  an'  he  ain'  eat  no  more'n  a  moufful,  an'  de  rest  o' 
dem  things  she  cooked  is  a-settin'  in  de  kitchen  on  de 

410 


TWO  PERSONS  RECEIVE  A  SHOCK 

table  now,  a-lookin'  reproachful.  Yas,  Lawd,  de  cun'l 
he  knowed  dat  'tain'  no  sense  to  go  travelin'  'thout  you 
got  a  bellyful,  caze  you  sho  is  gwine  git  hongry  on  de 
way  de  ve'y  time  whin  victuals  ain'  handy." 

The  judge  meditated  an  instant  before  he  put  the 
next  question. 

"  Did  —  did  Mr.  Roger  leave  any  message  ? "  he 
inquired,  haltingly. 

The  old  negro  scratched  his  head.  "Not  as  I 
knowed  on,  jedge,"  he  replied,  at  length.  "He  come 
out  to  de  kitchen,  an'  he  shuk  ban's  wid  me  an'  Daphne, 
an'  he  tell  us  take  keer  o'  ever'thing  tell  he  come 
back,  an'  he  say  he  don'  know  how  long  he  gwine  stay 
'way,  an'  he  lookin'  moughty  solemn.  Me  an'  Daphne 
is  takin'  it  powerful  hard.  De  cun'l  never  did  leave 
on  sech  short  notice,  leastways  whin  we-all  got  spring 
lam'  an'  young  peas,  an'  cauliflower,  an'  — " 

The  judge  waved  his  hand  a  trifle  impatiently. 
The  impropriety  of  further  questioning  had  occurred 
to  him,  but  the  suspicion  that  had  taken  hold  upon 
him  constrained  him  to  make  still  another  inquiry. 
He  straightened  himself  all  at  once. 

"Elisha,"  he  asked  with  an  assumption  of  great 
dignity  that  somehow  seemed  to  atone  to  his  somewhat 
outraged  sense  of  decorum,  "did  your  young  master 
happen  to  mention  to  what  part  of  the  world  he  was 
bound  for?" 

411 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

"  To  Yurrup,  jedge,"  replied  the  old  negro,  promptly. 
"Dis  sho  am  a  wo'ld  o'  trouble." 

The  judge  started  perceptibly.  For  a  moment  he 
stood  thinking.  Then  he  turned. 

"Ah,  to  Europe,"  he  commented,  softly,  as  he  reached 
for  his  hat  and  cane. 


412 


CHAPTER  XH 

AUCASSIN  AND   NICOLETE 

IT  was  midsummer  before  Roger  returned  from 
Europe.  The  investigation  which  he  had  crossed  the 
ocean  to  make,  and  to  which  he  had  brought  all  the 
powers  of  his  intellect  and  legal  acumen,  only  confirmed 
the  accuracy  of  the  story  in  its  entire  hideousness  of 
detail  that  had  been  given  in  the  London  newspaper. 
That  Marian  was  a  member  of  the  opera  company 
referred  to,  that  not  more  than  five  minutes  before  the 
fire  broke  out  she  had  been  seen  on  the  stage,  and  that 
she  met  her  death  in  the  terrible  way  described,  with 
the  rest  of  her  associates  whose  charred  and  unrecog- 
nizable bodies  had  afterwards  been  recovered,  seemed 
to  him  to  be  proved  beyond  the  smallest  possibility  of 
doubt. 

There  was  but  one  thing  that  still  remained  for  him 
in  mystery:  the  name  of  the  man  who  had  wronged 
him,  whose  shadow  seemed  ever  hovering  near  — 
always  beckoning  yet  always  eluding,  in  a  sort  of  grim 
and  ghastly  humorousness  —  as  Roger  went  about  his 

413 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

painful  task  of  discovery.  It  was  a  subject  which 
until  then  he  had  scarcely  dared  to  allow  his  mind  to 
dwell  upon,  lest  it  arouse  in  him  that  awful  white  heat 
of  feeling  before  which  a  man  stands  affrighted  even 
of  himself.  He  had  no  suspicion  beyond  the  surmise 
that  had  now  and  then  flashed  into  his  thought  that  it 
was  probably  some  one  she  had  known  through  her 
study  of  music  in  Cincinnati.  Her  subsequent  short- 
lived career  upon  the  stage  had  seemed  to  strengthen 
this  conjecture.  But  he  had  not  sought  to  know  what 
she  had  told  him  it  would  be  her  supreme  effort  to 
conceal;  and  as  he  saw  the  curtain  descend  upon  that 
last  most  tragic  scene  of  a  life  that  had  been  so  des- 
perate and  so  misguided,  only  a  feeling  of  pity  was 
left,  and  he  was  glad  that  the  dark  secret  of  her  down- 
fall was  hidden  from  him,  so  that  he  might  the  more 
readily  throw  over  his  remembrance  of  her  the  kindly 
light  of  forgiveness.  Where  love  is  absent  forgiveness 
to  the  offender  is  not  difficult;  and  all  along  there  had 
been  less  resentment  toward  her  than  bitterness  toward 
the  situation,  the  forces  of  which  he  himself  had  started 
into  action.  Now  he  saw  in  the  fire  that  had  destroyed 
the  woman  the  symbolism  of  purification  and  of  obliter- 
ation, so  that  the  individual  was  swallowed  up  in  the 
universal,  and  all  that  remained  were  the  great  broad 
principles  of  human  tragedy. 

In  June  he  had  sent  to  the  Lexington  newspapers  a 
414 


AUCASSIN   AND   NICOLETE 

brief  notice  of  her  death,  but  it  was  not  until  the  last 
of  July  that  he  turned  his  face  homeward.  A  profound 
weariness,  almost  an  apathy,  was  upon  him,  and  as  he 
stood  once  more,  untrammelled,  free  to  make  of  his 
life  the  complete  and  splendid  thing  which  in  his  early 
manhood  he  had  dreamed  it  might  be,  he  felt  as  an 
athlete  might  feel  whose  arms  have  been  long  bandaged, 
and  to  whom  the  removal  of  the  straps  and  swathes 
means  not  a  return  of  the  old  power  and  vigor,  but  a 
sense  of  well-nigh  paralytic  impotence. 

He  found  the  old  town  peacefully  basking  in  the 
glory  of  the  summer  sunshine,  and  his  friends  going 
about  their  wonted  tasks  with  the  easy  indifference  and 
mild  display  of  energies  that  the  Southron  is  very  apt 
to  permit  to  himself  from  the  time  of  the  coming  of  the 
first  warm  days  down  until  the  autumn.  Many  per- 
sons were  away,  but  there  were  enough  remaining  to 
give  to  the  place  that  light  and  cheerful  aspect  that  it 
always  wore  at  this  season,  like  a  summer  resort;  and 
as  Roger  passed  to  and  fro  to  his  office  he  would  often 
see  sitting  on  broad  vine-shaded  verandas,  or  beneath 
wide-spreading  trees,  a  whole  family,  and  sometimes 
half  a  neighborhood,  assembled,  the  men  discoursing 
usually  upon  politics,  and  the  women  in  their  cool 
white  draperies  laughingly  abetting  them,  or  adroitly 
turning  the  conversation  into  other  channels  whenever 
it  threatened  to  become  either  too  dull  or  too  violent. 

415 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

Judge  Fontaine  and  Sibyl  were  at  Bar  Harbor,  and 
not  expected  to  return,  his  servants  told  him,  until  the 
first  of  September. 

He  had  been  at  home  about  a  week  when  one  day, 
coming  back  a  little  earlier  than  usual  for  luncheon, 
he  wandered  out  into  the  garden  and  whistled  for  the 
dogs  to  come  to  him.  They  were  lazy  in  appearing, 
and  as  he  waited,  his  eyes  slowly,  and  as  if  drawn 
thither  by  an  irresistible  magnet,  traveled  toward  the 
little  arched  gateway  midway  in  the  osage  orange  hedge 
that  opened  into  the  judge's  premises. 

He  stood  quite  still,  looking  steadily  toward  the 
tiny  portal,  his  expression  grave  and  undecided. 
Everywhere  a  noontide  languor  prevailed.  Not  a 
creature  was  stirring  about  his  own  place,  and  the 
judge's,  he  knew,  would  seem  even  more  deserted, 
for  the  reason  that  even  the  care-taker  was  off  for  a 
holiday.  The  drowsy  hum  of  bees  mingling  with 
the  occasional  call  of  a  jay  or  a  robin  alone  broke  the 
delicious  quietude.  He  crossed  the  yard  and  softly 
turned  the  knob  of  the  gate.  But  he  suddenly  drew 
back  and  would  not  enter  —  as  a  soul  might  draw 
back  trembling  before  the  gates  of  paradise.  As  he 
paused  irresolute,  all  at  once  from  the  honeysuckle 
bush  near  by  the  redbird  that  had  built  his  nest  there 
—  the  same  that  had  broken  in  upon  them  with  his 
piercing,  full-throated  melody  on  that  April  morning 

416 


AUCASSIN   AND   NICOLETE 

when  Roger  and  Sibyl  met  for  the  first  time  after  her 
return  —  lifted  up  his  voice  and  began  to  sing.  He 
began  softly,  with  only  a  few  low,  detached,  intimately 
fervid  notes,  gradually  waxing  more  and  more  ecstatic 
until  the  very  air  seemed  weighted  with  his  love-song 
as  an  oriental  garden  is  weighted  with  perfume.  Roger 
listened  with  a  dull  wistfulness  in  his  eyes.  Then,  as 
the  song  died  away,  a  light  overspread  his  features, 
and  with  an  end  of  hesitation  he  turned  the  knob  and 
entered.  From  that  moment  new  life  awoke  in  him. 
Sibyl's  presence  pervaded  every  nook  and  corner 
of  the  garden,  and  was  the  supreme  essence  of  its 
sweetness.  She  was  a  part  of  its  dazzling  sunlight 
and  of  its  cool,  deep  shadows,  its  tender,  maternal 
solace,  its  evanescent  maiden  charm.  From  every 
leaf  and  flower  she  spoke  to  him,  with  every  sigh  of 
the  summer  wind  she  comforted  him.  So  near  did 
she  seem  to  him  there  that  as  he  made  his  way  to  the 
bench  under  the  great  tree  beneath  which  they  had 
sat  on  that  farewell  evening  of  her  dance,  he  half 
paused  to  listen  to  the  soft  trailing  of  her  ethereal 
garments  as  she  followed  him  to  the  place,  while 
once  more  the  moonlight  was  gleaming  on  her  bare, 
beautiful  neck  and  arms,  and  her  haunting  voice  was 
sounding  in  his  ears.  Ah,  that  voice!  How  often 
in  his  dreams  since  then  had  he  heard  it,  floating  down 
to  him  in  his  slumbers  like  the  soft  whisper  of  a  magic 

417 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

flute!  How  waking  he  had  striven  to  put  the  memory 
of  it  from  him,  lest  like  the  siren  voice  of  old  it  lure 
him  to  the  death  of  all  those  hardly-won  principles  of 
life  which  he  had  wrested  from  each  fierce  battle  of 
the  soul  as  his  superb  spoils  of  victory!  And  as  he  sat 
there,  realizing  her,  gloating  over  her,  absorbing  her 
into  his  very  being,  the  wheel  of  time  turned  back- 
ward, and  the  last  two  miserable,  despairing  years 
seemed  for  an  instant  to  vanish,  and  again  he  was  the 
undaunted,  untired  youth  of  that  enchanted  summer 
night. 

But  it  was  only  for  an  instant.  Like  a  returning 
wave  the  recollection  of  all  the  circumstances  relating 
to  his  unhappy  marriage  bore  down  upon  him  and 
overwhelmed  him;  and  with  a  groan  he  buried  his  face 
in  his  hands,  and  shut  out  the  vision  from  him.  How 
could  he  hope  to  win  her  now,  he  asked  himself  in 
bitterness  of  spirit,  after  all  that  had  come  between  ? 
For  with  him,  as  it  has  ever  been  with  every  true  lover 
under  the  sun,  doubt  went  hand  in  hand  with  hope. 

Yet  from  that  time  on  he  gave  himself  up  wholly 
to  the  luxury  of  dreaming  of  her,  thus  feeling  in  the 
mere  release  of  conscience  with  regard  to  her  a  joy 
that  was  only  a  little  short  of  actual  possession.  Often 
in  the  clear,  still  midsummer  dawns  he  would  wake 
and  think  of  her,  always  seeing  her  face  as  it  looked 
to  him  on  that  never  to  be  forgotten  night  in  the 

418 


AUCASSIN    AND   NICOLETE 

moonlight;  for  behind  the  veil  of  simple  friendliness 
she  had  worn  in  their  recent  meetings  he  had  not  been 
able  to  find  her,  though  again  and  again  her  voice  had 
seemed  to  him  to  echo  her  little  farewell  speech.  "  Be 
a  good  boy,"  she  had  said  to  him,  as  she  held  his 
hands  in  hers,  and  every  word  and  every  look  she  had 
given  him  since  her  return  seemed  intended  but  as  a 
supplement  to  it,  and  as  a  divine  uplift  in  the  midst 
of  a  dismal  wreckage. 

There  was  not  at  this  season  of  the  year  the  usual 
amount  of  business  requiring  his  attention,  and  he 
fell  into  the  habit  of  coming  home  to  luncheon  earlier 
than  heretofore  that  he  might  spend  a  quiet  hour  in 
her  garden,  alone  with  her  in  that  mysterious  life  of 
the  spirit  which  with  him  had  come  to  be  so  much 
more  real  than  the  actual  that  he  could  scarcely  per- 
suade himself  that  her  very  bodily  presence  also  had 
not  been  conjured  to  appear  before  him  when  he  would 
awake  from  this  day  dream  and  go  back  into  the 
world  of  commonplace  again. 

The  courthouse  clock  was  just  sounding  the  hour  of 
twelve  one  day,  the  loud,  resonant  peals  echoing  far 
and  wide  through  the  old  town,  when  he  went  up  the 
steps  of  his  home.  In  a  sudden  great  longing  for  her 
he  had  laid  aside  his  work  and  returned  a  whole  hour 
sooner  than  ordinarily,  and  as  he  strode  through  the 
hall  he  smiled  a  little  to  himself  at  the  encroachment 

419 


his  indulgence  had  allowed.  But  he  was  far  from 
repentant,  and  five  minutes  later  he  was  lying  out- 
stretched on  the  grass  beside  the  bench  in  Sibyl's 
shadowy  garden  with  his  e^es  closed,  beholding  her, 
hearing  her,  adoring  her,  with  that  marvelous  capacity 
for  conceiving  an  experience  that  certain  finely  or- 
ganized beings  possess,  and  that  has  in  it  the  element 
of  pure  poetry  where  there  is  a  great  love  coupled 
with  a  great  humility. 

So  absorbed  was  he  in  his  own  thoughts,  so  far 
removed  from  the  distant  hum  of  the  little  city  wherein 
men  walked  oppressed  with  sordid  care,  that  he  had 
lost  all  sense  of  time;  and  he  scarcely  knew  whether 
he  had  been  there  a  long  or  a  short  while  when  sud- 
denly he  opened  his  eyes  and  saw  her  standing  before 
him.  For  an  instant  he  gazed  at  her  bewildered,  as 
if  he  still  half  believed  her  to  be  but  the  lovely  phantom 
of  his  dreams.  Then  with  a  low,  joyful  exclamation 
he  sprang  to  his  feet. 

She  had  been  standing  within  two  or  three  feet  of 
him,  looking  down  upon  him,  and  she  had  evidently 
thought  that  he  was  sleeping,  for  her  expression  altered 
quickly  when  he  opened  his  eyes.  But  in  the  flash  of 
that  swift  transition  he  had  caught  a  look  upon  the 
beautiful  face  that  he  was  not  able  to  interpret. 

"Oh,  but  I  didn't  mean  to  wake  you!"  she  cried. 
"I  came  on  tiptoe,  and  as  softly  as  a  cat.  Did  you 

420 


AUCASSIN   AND   NICOLETE 

ever  notice  how  a  cat  walks  when  going  through  long 
grass  ?  And  you  never  would  have  known  I  was  here 
if  a  spool  hadn't  fallen  out  of  my  work-basket." 

She  wore  a  pink  cotton  gown,  and  she  carried  in  the 
crook  of  one  arm  a  little  white  and  gold  basket  filled 
to  overflowing,  one  dainty  bit  of  embroidery  overcrowd- 
ing silks  and  needles  and  certain  odds  and  ends  of  lace 
and  ribbons  which  had  found  their  way  into  the  small 
receptacle. 

"  You  didn't  wake  me,"  he  answered,  gravely,  "  and 
you  —  you  only  materialized." 

He  took  the  hand  she  held  out  to  him,  asking  himself 
if  she  guessed  even  a  little  of  what  the  moment  meant 
to  him  —  the  wonder  of  it;  and  he  tried  to  make  his 
voice  sound  natural,  and  was  conscious  that  he  had 
failed  utterly.  He  suddenly  looked  away. 

She  had  quietly  seated  herself  on  the  bench  and  was 
spreading  out  her  embroidery. 

"  When  —  when  did  you  come  ?  "  he  faltered  again, 
turning  to  her  with  that  dazed,  half  comprehending 
look  his  face  had  worn  when  he  first  opened  his  eyes 
and  beheld  her,  and  could  not  know  whether  she  was 
a  creature  of  flesh  and  blood  or  an  illusion  born  merely 
of  the  intensity  of  his  own  emotion. 

"We  came  last  night,"  she  answered,  "quite  unex- 
pectedly. It  was  cold  at  Bar  Harbor,  and  we  both 
longed  for  home."  Then  she  added,  quickly,  with  a 

421 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

soft,  indulgent  smile  around,  "Did  you  ever  see  such 
a  wild  tangle  as  my  garden?  It  has  quite  outgrown 
itself  —  like  a  great  unkempt  school-boy,  and  I  can 
scarcely  keep  from  scolding  it  just  a  wee  bit  for  such 
uppishness." 

He  did  not  speak,  but  he  flung  himself  down  to  the 
ground  at  her  feet,  and  presently  he  reached  out  and 
gathered  a  handful  of  the  long  grasses  that  her  gown 
had  swept  in  passing.  He  appeared  to  be  studying 
them  intently,  but  in  reality  he  was  only  asking  himself 
a  question,  and  that  was  how  in  the  name  of  all  that 
was  reasonable  he  was  going  to  keep  himself  within 
bounds  of  cool  propriety  when  his  heart  was  leaping 
in  a  madness  of  joy  within  him,  and  when  he  scarcely 
trusted  himself  to  look  at  her  for  fear  he  should  spring 
up  and  snatch  her  into  his  arms. 

But  in  spite  of  her  sweet  and  gracious  cordiality 
there  was  about  her  a  fine  reserve  not  easy  to  break 
down,  and  one  realized  that  she  was  a  woman  whose 
resources  of  polish  and  wit  and  ease  were  such  that 
a  complete  grasp  of  any  situation  in  which  she  might 
be  placed  would  be  hers.  That  it  was  her  intention  to 
show  him  the  same  simple  friendliness,  the  same  free- 
dom from  constraint  that  she  had  steadfastly  main- 
tained in  their  recent  previous  meetings,  he  well  knew 
—  but  he  was  conscious  of  an  alteration.  She  was  not 
less  friendly,  but  she  was  strangely  different.  He  felt 

422 


AUCASSIN   AND   NICOLETE 

it  in  the  very  tones  of  her  voice  and  in  the  delicate 
atmosphere  of  aloofness  that  was  about  her. 

All  at  once  a  sudden  sharp  foreboding  pierced  him 
like  a  sword  thrust.  If  some  other  man  had  won  what 
his  whole  being  cried  out  for!  The  thought  was  one 
to  set  his  brain  on  fire  and  drive  him  headlong,  through 
a  swift  impetuosity  of  feeling,  to  rashness  of  expression, 
in  order  that  at  once  he  might  know  the  worst.  Yet 
something  in  her  manner  held  him  back. 

He  glanced  quickly  toward  her.  She  was  in  the  act 
of  threading  her  needle,  and  there  lay  spread  out  in 
her  lap  a  circular  piece  of  damask  on  which  were 
embroidered  some  half  a  dozen  fern  leaves  in  a  shade 
of  green  that  well  simulated  the  natural  colors.  In 
her  perfect  serenity  she  both  soothed  and  baffled  him. 
If  she  had  been  sitting  there  in  this  simple  fashion 
with  him  at  her  feet  every  day  for  weeks  or  months, 
or  years,  she  could  scarcely  have  seemed  more  at  home 
with  him.  And  yet  he  dared  not  speak  one  word  of 
the  great  love  that  was  clamoring  so  loudly  for  utter- 
ance. In  the  violence  of  the  sudden  apprehension 
that  had  shaken  him  lest  too  late  to  win  her  his  freedom 
had  come  to  him,  his  sense  of  delicacy  in  regard  to  the 
situation  was  for  the  moment  swallowed  up,  and  man- 
like he  was  rendered  desperate  and  alive  only  to  the 
thought  of  alleviating  his  uncertainty. 

Her  little  work-basket  was  on  the  bench  beside  her, 
423 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

and  to  conceal  his  agitation  he  reached  out  for  it,  and 
bent  his  head  down  over  it,  fingering  its  dainty  con- 
tents. In  the  bottom  of  the  basket  his  hands,  still 
trembling,  touched  a  tiny  book. 

"  What  have  you  here  ?  "  he  asked,  looking  up  at  her. 
"May  I  look  at  it?" 

She  nodded,  smiling,  and  he  drew  it  forth  with  that 
sense  of  intimate  discovery  in  relation  to  the  person 
beloved  that  a  lover  feels  in  regard  to  the  most  trifling 
thing  thus  unexpectedly  come  upon. 

"  Oh ! "  he  cried,  delighted,  with  uncontrollable  fervor 
in  his  voice  and  a  half- shy  glance  at  her,  "  do  you  love 
it  too ?  How  strange!  —  I  have  just  been  reading  it." 

His  face  was  lit  with  a  sudden  boyish  enthusiasm, 
and  he  held  the  little  book  in  his  hands  an  instant 
without  opening  it.  It  was  the  Andrew  Lang  transla- 
tion of  the  old  thirteenth-century  cantefable  —  the 
quaint  tale  told  in  alternate  prose  and  verse  by  the 
"  captive  gray,"  of  the  immortal  loves  of  Aucassin  and 
Nicolete. 

He  slowly  turned  the  pages.  "  How  young  it  makes 
me  feel  again ! "  he  exclaimed,  with  a  laugh.  "  I  don't 
believe  I  have  seen  the  original  once  since  my  uni- 
versity days,  yet  it  is  as  fresh  with  me  as  if  I  had  read 
it  only  yesterday;  and  this  has  brought  back  so  many 
delicious  memories:  long  moonlit  strolls  with  Bernard 
de  Ventadour,  and  Pierre  Vidal,  and  above  all  'the 

424 


AUCASSIN   AND    NICOLETE 

old  captive '  —  and  the  sound  of  viols  and  the  laughter 
of  lovely  ladies  leaning  from  their  casements  —  as 
together  we  wandered  from  castle  to  castle  in  'the 
happy  poplar  land.'  I  surely  was  a  troubadour  of 
the  troubadours,  in  those  days,"  he  ended,  with  a 
sudden  gravity. 

She  leaned  toward  him  with  that  curious  com- 
mingling of  archness  and  seriousness  that  was  one  of 
the  distinct  marks  of  her  personality,  and  that  gave 
to  it  its  most  peculiar  charm,  quoting  lightly,  yet  with 
a  note  of  sadness: 

When  I  was  young  as  you  are  young, 

When  lutes  were  touched,  and  songs  were  sung, 

And  love  lamps  in  the  window  hung. 

"  But  we  are  not  very  old  yet,"  he  said,  quickly,  and 
appealingly. 

She  threw  him  a  laughing,  piquant  glance.  "I  am 
nearly  twenty-five,"  she  remarked,  naively. 

"  And  I  am  nearly  thirty,"  he  responded,  very  quietly. 

He  was  silent  a  moment.  "  It  must  have  been  rather 
rough  on  the  viel  caitif  to  think  that  it  was  all  over 
with  him,"  he  said,  musingly,  a  light  coming  into  his 
eyes  that  gave  to  his  features  a  very  different  aspect 
from  what  they  wore  in  the  ordinary  rough-and- 
tumble  intercourse  of  life.  And  then,  as  she  flushed 
a  little,  he  added,  meaningly  — "  That  would  be  a 
hard  thing  for  any  man." 

425 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

"Yet  he  tells  the  tale,  as  his  translator  suggests,  of 
his  dear  provei^al  lovers,"  she  responded,  with  some- 
thing like  embarrassed  haste,  "as  if  love  were  so  long 
past  with  him  that  he  could  think  of  the  loss  of  it 
without  bitterness  and  even  with  a  sort  of  humorous 
patience." 

She  seemed  to  him  to  be  deliberately  ignoring  every- 
thing in  his  manner  that  veered  toward  the  personal, 
and  he  was  hurt  and  troubled.  He  held  the  book 
thoughtfully  as  his  gaze  wandered  away  for  an  instant. 

"There  was  not  much  'humorous  patience'  about 
the  loves  of  Aucassin  and  Nicolete,"  he  said,  at  length, 
a  trifle  bitterly.  "Theirs  was  a  love  so  deep  and  ter- 
rible that  nothing  could  thwart  it,  and  nothing  could 
alter  it;  and  that  is  the  reason  why  for  more  than  six 
hundred  years  the  story  has  lived,  and  will  continue 
to  h've  as  long  as  there  are  any  true  lovers  left  in  the 
world." 

Her  cheeks  had  flushed  a  deeper  pink  and  her 
violet  eyes  were  lowered.  But  there  was  a  small 
flickering  smile  about  her  lips  as  she  bent  over  her 
embroidery. 

"Read  a  little  to  me,"  she  said,  softly. 

And  then  Roger  turned  the  pages  and  read  of  how 
old  Count  Garin  de  Biaucaire  was  hard  pressed  of  his 
enemy  and  besieged  by  an  army  of  a  hundred  knights 
and  ten  thousand  men  at  arms,  horsemen  and  footmen ; 

426 


AUCASSIN   AND    NICOLETE 

and  of  how  young  Aucassin,  the  count's  son,  Aucassin 
of  the  yellow  hair  and  blue  and  laughing  eyes,  refused 
to  be  dubbed  knight,  or  to  mount  steed,  or  to  go  into 
the  "stour  where  knights  do  smite  and  are  smitten," 
unless  they  give  him  Nicolete,  his  sweet  lady,  so  sud- 
denly overtaken  was  he  of  Love,  who,  according  to 
his  ancient  chronicler,  "is  a  great  master." 

He  paused  a  moment,  and  Sibyl  looked  up.  Her 
eyes  did  not  meet  his  but  traveled  on  to  a  small  patch 
of  sunshine  in  the  distance,  made  particularly  luminous 
by  contrast  with  the  near-by  all-encompassing  shadows. 

"If  Aucassin  had  been  my  lover,"  she  said,  "I 
think  I  should  have  loved  him  even  a  little  more, 
and  have  believed  that  he  loved  me  even  a  little 
more,  if  he  had  gone  bravely  about  his  knightly 
duties." 

His  eyes  kindled  with  warmth  and  gratitude. 
"  Should  you  ?  "  he  asked,  quickly,  "  should  you  ?  " 

But  Sibyl  would  not  answer.  Roger  fingered  the 
pages  with  hands  that  suddenly  trembled  again. 

"You  will  have  to  admit,"  he  said,  after  a  moment, 
"  that  when  he  did  go  into  battle  at  last  on  the  covenant 
that,  if  God  should  bring  him  back  sound  and  safe, 
he  should  see  her  long  enough  to  have  of  her  'two 
words  or  three,  and  one  kiss,'  that  he  hacked  and  slew 
a  plenty,  though  at  first  he  was  so  filled  with  the 
thought  of  her  that  he  even  forgot  where  he  was  and 

427 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

what  he  had  to  do;  and  I  don't  wonder,"  he  added, 
with  one  of  his  old  whimsical  youthful  smiles,  and  the 
insistent  personal  note. 

"I  should  have  loved  him  even  a  little  more,  and 
have  believed  that  he  loved  me  even  a  little  more,  if 
he  had  felt  he  must  go,  though  there  was  little  prospect 
of  the '  two  words  or  three,  and  one  kiss,' "  she  answered, 
bending  lower  over  her  work. 

"I  believe  you  would,"  Ke  replied  in  a  low, 
tense  voice.  "  I  knew  —  I  have  always  known  you 
would." 

Then  softly,  as  if  the  antique  love-song  were  a  thing 
that  had  been  written  solely  for  him,  Roger  read  the 
lament  of  the  imprisoned  Aucassin  as  he  poured  out 
his  soul  in  broken-hearted  longing: 

"  My  sweet  lady,  lily  white, 
Sweet  thy  footfall,  sweet  thine  eyes, 
And  the  mirth  of  thy  replies. 
Sweet  thy  laughter,  sweet  thy  face, 
Sweet  thy  lips,  and  sweet  thy  brow, 
And  the  touch  of  thine  embrace. 
Who  but  doth  in  thee  delight? 
I  for  love  of  thee  am  bound 
In  this  dungeon  under  ground, 
All  for  loving  thee  must  lie 
Here  where  loud  on  thee  I  cry, 
Here  for  loving  thee  must  die 
For  thee,  my  love." 

428 


AUCASSIN   AND   NICOLETE 

With  a  quick  little  gesture  she  dropped  her  em- 
broidery, and  bent  down  above  him,  reading  from  the 
same  page  whereon  his  gaze  still  lingered. 

"  And  it  is  so  beautiful  here,"  she  eried,  "  where  she 
makes  her  escape  from  the  palace  upper  chamber, 
'painted  wondrously  with  colors  of  a  far  countrie,' 
and  goes  to  the  ruined  tower  in  which  Aucassin  is 
confined. 

"'Aucassin  was  cast  in  prison,'  she  read,  'as  ye 
have  heard  tell,  and  Nicolete,  of  her  part,  was  in  the 
chamber.  Now  it  was  summer  time,  in  the  month  of 
May,  when  days  are  warm,  and  long,  and  clear,  and 
the  nights  still  and  serene.  Nicolete  lay  one  night  on 
her  bed,  and  saw  the  moon  shine  clear  through  a 
window,  yea,  and  heard  the  nightingale  sing  in  the 
garden,  so  she  minded  her  of  Aucassin  her  lover  whom 
she  loved  so  well.' " 

"And  she  had  only  to  mind  herself  of  him,"  he 
interrupted,  darting  a  swift  glance  into  her  eyes,  "  to  be 
willing  to  undertake  a  most  desperate  and  daring 
thing  for  his  sake.  Could  a  woman  love  as  much  as 
that  still,  I  wonder  ?  " 

"Yes  —  and  more."  The  words  fell  from  her  lips 
more  like  a  soft,  quick  breathing  than  actual  speech. 
But  an  instant  afterward  she  had  picked  up  her  em- 
broidery and  seemed  intent  only  upon  her  centerpiece. 

"  Read  about  the  lodge  of  boughs  in  the  forest,"  she 
429 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

said,  "  where  she  waits  for  Aucassin,  after  he  has  been 
taken  out  of  prison." 

For  an  instant  he  looked  steadily  at  her.  Could  there 
be  a  hidden  meaning  lurking  in  the  seeming  simplicity 
of  those  words  ?  The  thought  filled  him  with  a  joy  as 
wild  and  piercing  as  ever  thrilled  the  heart  of  Aucassin. 
He  too  had  been  imprisoned,  ah,  yes !  —  and  freed 
again,  thank  God!  Was  she  like  Nicolete,  a- waiting 
him  at  the  place  "  where  seven  roads  meet "  ?  His 
pulses  were  bounding  furiously.  He  dared  not  look 
at  her  now.  All  the  deep  and  desperate  passion  of  the 
antique  tale,  all  its  pathos  and  poetry,  its  sweetness 
and  fidelity,  seemed  to  him  to  live  once  more  in  im- 
mortal freshness  through  the  mighty  love  he  bore  her, 
which,  he  knew,  was  but  a  new  manifestation  of  an 
old,  perennial  force,  still  existent,  still  vital,  in  spite  of 
all  our  twentieth-century  convention.  Obediently  he 
turned  the  pages,  reading  snatches  here  and  there, 
bringing  before  them  the  perfect  picture  —  the  gloom 
of  the  ancient  forest,  with  its  perils  of  wild  beast  and 
of  the  darkness,  the  flash  of  the  spring  sunlight,  the 
singing  of  birds,  and  the  splash  of  the  fountain;  and 
then  the  description  of  the  meeting  with  the  shepherd 
boys,  with  its  delicious  note  of  drollery,  so  quaint  and 
real  that  one  seems  to  hear,  as  Walter  Pater  says  of  it, 
"  the  faint,  far-off  laughter  still."  Then  he  closed  the 
book,  reciting  dreamily: 

430 


AUCASSIN   AND    NICOLETE 

"Where  smooth  the  Southern  waters  run 

Through  rustling  leagues  of  poplars  gray, 
Beneath  a  veiled  soft  Southern  sun, 

We  wandered  out  of  yesterday; 

Went  Maying  in  that  ancient  May 
Whose  fallen  flowers  are  fragrant  yet, 

And  lingered  by  the  fountain  spray 
With  Aucassin  and  Nicolete." 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  stopped  there,"  she  said,  presently, 
letting  her  embroidery  fall  into  her  lap,  and  sitting 
with  her  hands  clasped,  looking  away  into  the  distance 
with  a  certain  sweetly  grave,  wistful  look  in  her  eyes 
that  he  had  often  seen  there,  and  that  always  seemed 
to  him  to  be  seeking  to  penetrate  so  much  further  into 
the  mysteries  than  most  persons  ever  care  to  go.  "  To 
me  the  story  always  ends  with  the  meeting  between 
the  two  under  the  quiet  stars  in  the  '  lodge  of  green.' " 

"Yet  it  is  something  to  know  that  the  old  tale 
arrives  at  last  at  the  completest  of  human  fulfilments, 
don't  you  think  it  is,  in  spite  of  all  the  trials  that  fol- 
lowed even  after  he  had  found  her  ?  " 

His  voice  sounded  a  trifle  unsteady,  and  he  raised 
himself  and  sat  looking  at  her  with  eager,  shining  eyes. 

Something  in  his  look,  his  manner,  finding  her  for 
an  instant  off-guard  seemed  to  shake  her  self-control. 
There  was  a  little  break  in  her  voice  when  she  spoke. 

"The  trials  only  made  them  love  each  other  the 
more;  I  didn't  quite  mean  that." 

431 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

"You  meant—?" 

He  reached  over  with  one  hand  for  the  upper  round 
of  the  bench  and  drew  himself  quite  close  to  her. 
"  You  meant  —  ?  "  he  repeated,  devouring  her  with  his 
eyes,  as  he  looked  up  into  her  face,  ardently,  yet 
reverently,  as  a  man  might  gaze  at  a  star,  "  won't  you 
tell  me  what  you  meant?" 

"  It  doesn't  matter." 

"  Oh,  but  I  do  so  much  want  to  know.  I  wish  you 
would  tell  me." 

There  came  a  slight  coldness  into  her  voice,  and  she 
looked  away  from  him. 

"  I  only  meant  that  —  that  in  having  found  each 
other  after  realizing  all  that  each  was  willing  to  undergo 
for  the  other,  they  had  the  most  perfect  fulfilment 
already,  and  that  nothing  else  that  could  possibly 
happen  afterwards  to  either  of  them  could  make  any 
difference  whatever." 

The  words  were  intensely  passionate,  yet  the  tone 
was  formal.  She  had  suddenly  paled,  and  she  drew 
back  from  his  nearness  with  something  like  a  protest 
and  a  reminder. 

Hurt  and  uncertain  he  moved  away  a  little,  and  lay 
resting  his  chin  on  his  elbow,  thinking  hard.  He  was 
beginning  to  believe  that  in  all  she  had  said  to  him 
there  was  an  underlying  symbolism  of  which  the 
tale  had  merely  offered  opportunity;  and  out  of  the 

432 


AUCASSIN    AND    NICOLETE 

chaos  of  thought  and  feeling  that  followed  upon  a 
sudden  sharp  conviction  that  all  at  once  took  posses- 
sion of  him,  only  one  thing  stood  out  with  overwhelm- 
ingly startling  significance,  and  that  was  that  she  was  a 
woman  in  love  —  but  not  with  him.  That  under  all 
her  fineness  and  delicacy  there  were  tremendous 
powers  of  feeling  intensified  by  the  exquisite  purity 
of  her  nature,  and  that,  though  the  spiritual  element 
prevailed  in  her  to  the  exclusion  of  everything  that 
characterized  the  grosser  order  of  being,  she  was  "yet 
human  at  the  red  ripe  of  the  heart,"  he  had  not  doubted 
for  an  instant.  He  knew  that  if  she  loved  a  man  she 
would  love  him  with  a  tenderness  and  an  abandon 
that  would  have  its  root  in  a  depth  of  feeling  that  could 
endure  all  things,  and  that  would  be  as  deathless  as  the 
love  they  had  just  been  reading  about.  And  that  she 
did  love  some  one  in  just  that  way,  he  now  believed. 

Up  to  this  moment  the  thought  had  been  suspicion 
merely  —  now  it  had  become  certainty.  He  could 
not  have  given  any  clear  and  satisfactory  reason  for 
this  conclusion.  Yet  he  was  quite  sure. 

He  lay  perfectly  still,  as  still  as  if  the  stroke  that 
had  felled  him  had  been  straight  between  the  eyes, 
bringing  immediate  unconsciousness;  and  the  whole 
earth  grew  dark,  and  his  face  reflected  his  anguish  in 
a  sort  of  dull  red  that  overspread  his  features  as  from 
a  physical  blow. 

433 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

Several  moments  passed.  He  did  not  once  speak, 
and  he  seemed  to  be  even  forgetful  of  her  presence, 
wrapped  in  the  profound  isolation  that  follows  upon  a 
great  grief. 

She  sat  watching  him,  motionless,  silent,  yet  with 
her  eyes  riveted  upon  his  face,  and  with  an  expres- 
sion that  wavered  and  then  grew  definite.  And 
by  and  by  as  she  gazed  upon  him  lying  dumb  and 
stricken  at  her  feet,  his  strong  young  frame  in  its 
momentary  helplessness  making  the  appeal  which  de- 
feated manhood  that  has  gone  down  nobly  ever 
makes  to  the  woman  who  is  by  nature  intensely 
womanly,  there  swept  over  her  features  a  great  tender- 
ness that  drove  the  barriers  she  had  set  up  headlong 
before  it  as  a  mighty  torrent  beats  down  bridge  and 
parapet. 

She  made  a  slight  movement,  and  he  turned.  A 
low  cry  broke  from  him,  for  the  look  in  her  eyes  was 
the  same,  only  this  time  deeper,  surer,  and  more 
infinite,  as  that,  wondering,  he  had  seen  in  them  when 
she  had  stood  looking  down  upon  him  believing  him 
to  be  sleeping. 

He  started  to  spring  to  his  feet,  then  another  im- 
pulse superseded  the  first  one,  and  kneeling,  he  reached 
out  his  hands  and  clasped  hers  lying  folded  in  her  lap, 
and  bent  down  his  head  upon  them.  "  Oh,  Sibyl  — 
Sibyl!"  he  said,  and  then  there  was  a  silence  between 

434 


AUCASSIN    AND    NICOLETE 

them   while   she   could   hear   the   deep   breaths   that 
shook  him  like  sobs. 

All  at  once  he  raised  his  head  and  looked  into  her 
eyes,  as  if  seeking  still  further  reassurance.  But  as 
he  reached  out  his  arms  to  her,  she  put  them  from  her. 
Then  leaning  over  him  until  her  warm  breath  swept 
his  brow  she  softly  spoke  the  words  that  made  all 
things  clear  to  him.  "Not  yet,"  she  whispered, 
"  not  yet  —  dear,  some  day ! "  And  an  instant  after- 
wards she  was  gone. 


435 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  GODS  ARE  JUST 

As  day  by  day  and  week  by  week  there  came  to  him 
a  surer  knowledge  that  she  loved  him,  the  wonder  of 
the  thing  grew  with  his  increase  of  certainty.  Every 
hour  that  he  spent  with  her  but  revealed  her  in.  some 
new  light  that  appealed  to  his  heart  or  his  imagina- 
tion; and  in  exploring  those  secret  and  marvelous 
depths  wherein,  like  a  jewel  hidden  from  common 
sight,  a  woman's  soul  lies  sleeping,  awaiting  the  dis- 
coverer, there  awoke  in  him,  with  the  great  over- 
mastering love  which  from  that  time  on  possessed 
him  with  a  force  that  was  startling  even  to  himself, 
such  a  sense  of  her  sweetness  and  nonnalness,  and 
largeness  of  attitude  toward  life,  that  he  felt  himself 
gradually  being  led  up  to  heights  which  thus  far  he 
had  only  dimly  discerned  as  distant  mountain  peaks, 
heights  of  thought  as  well  as  of  feeling.  For  she  had 
pondered  much  in  that  aloneness  of  the  spirit  which 
both  her  love  for  him  —  begun  as  he  now  knew  be- 
fore he  had  ever  seen  or  heard  of  Marian  —  and  the 

436 


THE    GODS   ARE    JUST 

peculiar  circumstances  of  her  life  had  engendered;  so 
that  she  was,  in  a  far  broader  sense  than  most  persons 
are  able  to  be,  an  inspiration  as  well  as  a  woman  pro- 
foundly adored.  There  was  in  her  nature  a  perfect 
adjustment  between  its  dual  parts  that  enabled  her 
to  respond  to  the  healthful  humanness  of  his  devotion 
for  her,  yet  there  was  a  serenity  also  that  supplied  a 
fine  ballast  to  his  native  impetuosity. 

He  wanted  to  be  married  at  once  —  the  next  month, 

0 

the  next  week  even,  as  he  half  laughing,  yet  with  an 
eagerness  that  was  in  part  serious,  demanded,  for 
after  the  revelation  in  the  garden  he  forced  the  climax, 
and  she  was  no  longer  able  to  resist  him.  But  on  the 
point  of  an  early  marriage  she  was  firm,  and  for  the 
sake  of  convention  it  was  finally  agreed  that  the  wed- 
ding should  not  take  place  until  the  following  April, 
and  that  their  engagement  should  be  kept  secret  from 
every  one  save  her  father. 

With  the  coming  of  the  autumn  and  the  awakening 
of  the  old  town  to  renewed  business  activity  and  to 
the  sort  of  spasmodic  social  revival  that  is  its  nearest 
attempt  at  gaiety,  Roger  suffered  a  pang  or  two. 
She  was  not  greatly  interested,  he  knew,  in  the  things 
that  made  up  the  life  of  the  average  girl  about  her, 
and  yet  it  was  by  no  means  with  entire  satisfaction 
that  he  saw  one  or  another  young  man  of  his  acquaint- 
ance attempting  to  bear  her  off  quite  before  his  eyes, 

437 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

and  all  with  that  lofty  air  of  proprietorship  which 
seemed  to  him  to  be  commendable  in  one  alone.  He 
well  knew  that  he  had  little  to  fear  from  any  of  them, 
and  that  she  was  divinely  his.  He  trusted  her  to  the 
very  utmost,  for  he  was  sure  that  fickleness  did  not 
form  even  a  little  part  of  her  character.  Yet  he  wanted 
her  all  for  himself;  and  he  would  have  liked  to  devise 
some  sort  of  bower  of  seclusion  for  her  in  which  she 
should  exist  solely  for  him  (with  perhaps  a  word  or 
two  daily  with  her  father,  as  a  great  concession)  and 
where  no  other  man  might  ever  dare  to  penetrate  to 
gaze  upon  her  loveliness  upon  penalty  of  death. 

But  this  was  a  very  minor  grievance,  and  he  had  no 
other.  How  gloriously,  how  preeminently  happy  he 
was!  And  what  a  dreamer!  Life  led  by  way  of  a 
secret,  winding,  golden  stairway  straight  up  to  the 
palace  of  the  stars  —  those  silent,  brooding  stars  that 
so  often  had  seemed  to  mock  him.  Now  they  were  so 
kind;  and  God  was  in  His  heaven,  and  the  world  was 
swinging  along  at  such  a  mad,  delicious  gait  that,  with 
that  swift  surrender  to  new  conditions  and  to  the 
intensity  of  the  present  which  is  a  characteristic  of 
persons  of  his  temperament,  he  felt  himself  to  be 
removed  by  centuries  from  the  past  and  all  the  horror 
that  he  had  but  recently  passed  through.  Not  that 
the  marks  of  his  suffering  were  not  upon  him  still. 
There  were  times  when  Sibyl's  eyes  would  fill  with 

438 


THE   GODS   ARE   JUST 

tears  as  she  would  sit  studying  him  when  he  was 
unconscious  of  her  scrutiny,  for  the  furrows,  outward 
as  well  as  inward,  wrought  by  woe  were  too  deep  to 
vanish  speedily.  Yet  he  was  young  enough,  through 
the  medium  of  a  great  joy,  to  recover  much  of  his  lost 
enthusiasm.  Thus  the  autumn  passed  and  the  first 
months  of  the  winter. 

In  February  he  was  called  to  New  York  on  an  errand 
of  business.  His  consideration  had  been  asked  of  an 
offer  for  a  piece  of  property  in  a  once  worthless  part  of 
the  city  which  half  a  century  before  his  grandfather 
had  taken  in  part  payment  of  a  bad  debt,  never  ex- 
pecting to  realize  more  than  a  pittance  out  of  it.  The 
property  had  become  valuable,  and  as  a  result  of  his 
visit  he  was  returning  home  at  the  end  of  a  week  the 
wealthier  by  more  than  a  hundred  thousand  dollars. 
Everything  seemed  coming  his  way. 

When  the  train  rolled  into  the  familiar  station  back 
of  the  Phrenix  Hotel  at  Lexington,  he  was  standing  on 
the  platform,  and  he  was  the  first  man  to  descend  from 
it.  His  face  was  eagerly  joyous,  and  he  strode  along 
up  the  street  past  the  hurrying  crowd  of  travelers 
and  the  shrieks  of  omnibus  drivers  and  cabmen  with 
such  vigor  of  step,  such  splendor  of  health  and  hope 
in  his  whole  being,  that  strangers  passing  now  and 
then  turned  to  throw  a  second  glance  at  the  slim, 
elegant  young  figure,  with  its  air  of  kindliness  and  of 

439 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

distinction.  It  was  half -past  five,  and  a  chilling,  dismal, 
rainy  afternoon.  A  driving  wind  blew  particles  of  ice 
and  snow  into  his  face  and  the  ground  was  becoming 
slippery.  At  the  corner  he  boarded  a  car,  remaining 
standing,  however,  outside,  in  order  that  he  might  get 
off  the  quicker.  The  sleet  was  clinging  to  his  overcoat 
and  his  face  was  stung  by  the  keen  little  arrows  that 
flew  with  every  gust;  but  he  was  unconscious  of  every- 
thing save  that  in  five  or  ten  minutes  more  he  should 
be  looking  into  the  eyes  of  the  woman  he  loved. 

As  he  sprang  from  the  car  in  front  of  his  home  a 
graceful  figure  in  a  long  blue  cloak,  holding  an  um- 
brella slightly  downward  to  break  the  force  of  the 
wind,  darted  past  the  gateway.  It  was  quite  dark, 
and  the  girl  was  evidently  disturbed  at  being  out  so 
late,  for  she  hurried  with  the  fleetness  of  a  deer  onward. 
He  had  not  even  a  glimpse  of  her  face,  but  something 
in  her  gait  and  aspect  made  his  heart  leap. 

He  stood  an  instant  uncertain,  looking  after  her. 
Then  a  light  overspread  his  features.  There  could  be 
no  mistaking  that  spirited  outline  and  movement. 
With  an  exultant  smile  and  a  sudden  bounding  of  the 
pulses  he  sped  after  her. 

But  at  the  sound  of  his  footsteps,  that  gained  every 
instant,  and  evidently  with  intention,  upon  her,  the 
girl  only  walked  the  faster,  and  he  had  not  succeeded 
in  overtaking  her  until,  with  a  little  troubled  glance 

440 


THE    GODS   ARE    JUST 

around,  she  had  reached  her  own  gate,  and  was  fum- 
bling a  trifle  nervously  with  the  latch.  Then  she  turned 
her  head,  and  before  she  could  speak  or  move  he  had 
dropped  his  umbrella  and  his  valise,  grasped  with  one 
hand  the  umbrella  she  held,  and  with  the  other  had 
clasped  her  close,  while  his  kisses  fell  hot  and  fast  on 
the  lovely  upturned  face. 

"  Well,  of  all  the  impudence ! "  he  exclaimed  when  he 
raised  his  head  at  last,  "running  away  from  me  like 
that!" 

"Do  hold  the  umbrella  a  little  lower,  dear.  Think 
how  horrible  it  would  be  if  any  one  should  see  us! 
There!" 

She  was  trembling  from  the  unexpected  joy  of  seeing 
him,  and  there  was  a  little  tearful  catch  in  her  voice, 
part  of  fright  and  part  of  happiness. 

"  If  I  hold  it  any  lower  I  shall  surely  have  to  kiss  you 
again,"  he  threatened;  "it  will  be  only  a  natural  con- 
sequence. Now  tell  me  what  you  ran  away  from  me 
for.  You  ought  to  have  known  it  was  I.  I  couldn't 
be  near  you  and  not  know  it." 

"  I  wasn't  running  away  from  you  —  I  was  running 
away  from  a  highway  robber,  and  I  was  clutching  my 
poor  little  pocket-book  that  has  just  three  cents  in  it 
tightly.  It  was  because  I  found  when  I  opened  it  that 
it  was  three  cents  instead  of  five  that  I  had  to  walk." 

He  bent  over  her,  and  there  came  a  great  tenderness 
441 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

into  his  eyes.  "  Well,"  he  said,  gravely,  at  length,  "  you 
were  running  from  a  highway  robber,  after  all,  a  robber 
that  demands  the  sweetest  and  most  precious  thing 
that  ever  passed  down  any  highway  since  the  world 


Then  he  reached  down  and  picked  up  his  belongings, 
and  opened  the  gate  for  her,  and  together  they  passed 
through,  walking  slowly  under  the  one  umbrella,  and 
as  unmindful  of  the  cold  and  sleet  as  if  it  were  the 
balmiest  day  of  May. 

"I  wasn't  looking  for  you  this  evening,"  said  Sibyl, 
presently,  and  with  a  sort  of  hush  in  her  voice  as  if 
she  stood  just  a  little  in  awe  of  her  own  happiness 
and  so  must  treat  it  reverently.  "Your  letters  said 
always  Wednesday." 

"I  know,"  he  answered,  "but  by  hurrying  about 
like  mad  and  forcing  those  fellows  to  terms  I  was  able 
to  gain  a  good  twenty-four  hours,  and  I  knew  what 
those  twenty-four  hours  would  mean  to  us,  for  already 
I  felt  as  if  I  had  been  gone  a  year.  Sometimes  I 
almost  hated  that  money  for  taking  me  away  from 
you." 

"The  money?"  she  asked,  vaguely.  Then  she 
dropped  his  arm  and  broke  into  a  laugh  as  they  reached 
the  steps.  "Oh,"  she  cried,  "I  had  forgotten  all 
about  the  money.  So  you  sold  the  property,  did  you  ? 
Somehow  I  can't  care  an  earthly  thing  about  it  — 

442 


THE    GODS   ARE    JUST 

not  as  much  as  I  ought  to  care  really,  for  together  we 
should  be  able  to  do  so  much  good  with  it.  What 
did  they  give  you  ?  " 

"One  hundred  and  three  thousand  dollars,"  he 
answered,  simply. 

She  walked  slowly  up  the  steps,  deliberating.  When 
they  had  reached  the  top  she  stood  a  moment  looking 
deep  into  his  eyes.  "  And  I  wouldn't  give,"  she  said, 
very  quietly  at  length,  "one  of  the  letters  you  sent  me 
while  you  were  gone  for  the  last  cent  of  it  —  to  say 
nothing  of  your  valentine.  Who  taught  you  to  be 
such  a  poet  —  the  birds  out  in  my  garden  ?  " 

His  arms  were  about  her  again  and  his  heart  was 
beating  wildly  under  the  deep  feeling  that  her  im- 
passioned words  awoke.  "  Yes  —  and  you !  Sweet- 
heart, did  you  actually  miss  me  as  much  as  your 
letters  said?"  he  demanded,  low  under  his  breath; 
and  then,  before  she  could  answer  him,  a  sudden 
tremor  seized  him.  "Dearest,"  he  whispered,  "do 
you  realize  that  it  is  just  six  weeks  from  to-day  before 
the  first  of  April?" 

She  would  not  reply  for  a  moment,  and  though  he 
felt  the  start  she  gave  at  his  words  as  he  held  her 
firmly,  when  she  spoke  it  was  with  a  shy,  womanly 
parrying. 

"  The  first  of  April  ? "  she  said,  with  a  soft,  teasing 
laughter.  "What  on  earth  is  going  to  happen  on 

443 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

the  first  of  April  ?  "  It  is  the  day  for  all  sorts  of  silly 
pranks.  Have  you  any  particular  one  in  prospect?" 

"  Then  we  shall  be  married  on  the  second  if  you  are 
superstitious.  I  have  a  mind  above  such  weakness." 

"On  Sunday?"  She  was  still  laughing  slyly  to 
herself  at  his  seriousness.  "That  will  be  the  second 
of  April." 

"On  Saturday,  then.     You  said  the  first  of  April." 

All  at  once  she  reached  up  her  arms  and  drew  his 
face  down  to  hers,  clasping  it  in  both  her  hands,  while 
her  eyes  searched  deep  into  those  furthermost  recesses 
where  none  but  her  had  ever  wandered  —  the  sacred 
penetralia  of  the  soul.  Then,  with  a  long-drawn 
breath  of  satisfaction,  as  if  she  had  found  there  nothing 
to  trouble,  nothing  to  frighten  her,  she  said,  solemnly, 
and  with  a  little  nestling  movement  against  his  shoulder, 
"Dear,  it  shall  be  when  you  wish;  and  whether  that  be 
on  Saturday,  or  Sunday,  or  Monday,  it  will  be  my 
day  of  days;  and  I  give  you  myself,  all  of  me,  every 
heart  throb,  every  brain  throb,  every  high  impulse, 
every  true  aspiration,  my  hopes,  and  my  dreams,  my 
sorrows  and  my  tears  —  all,  body,  mind,  and  spirit, 
I  give  to  you,  now,  and  forever  and  ever." 

He  could  not  speak.  Moved  to  the  very  heart's 
center,  he  could  find  no  words  with  which  to  voice 
the  emotion  stirring  within  him.  A  mist  gathered  in 
his  eyes,  and  he  bowed  his  head  in  a  silence  that  was 

444 


THE    GODS   ARE    JUST 

rapt  and  reverential.  No  other  moment  of  his  ac- 
quaintance with  her  was  so  sacred  or  so  beautiful  — 
not  even  the  moment  of  their  betrothal,  and  he  was 
able  to  see  in  it  all  its  deep  and  touching  significance: 
the  completeness  of  her  surrender,  the  exquisite  trust 
and  tenderness  with  which  she  relinquished  her  girl- 
hood and  in  anticipation  already  sought  to  enter  upon 
the  larger  womanhood  to  which  his  love  had  summoned 
her.  As  he  held  her  thus  in  his  arms,  from  his  heart 
there  went  up  the  purest  prayer  his  lips  had  ever 
uttered  for  grace  to  be  worthy  of  her,  that  together 
they  might  go  onward  in  that  existence  of  the  spirit 
of  which  he  had  had  the  clearest  revelation  through 
her,  and  that  he  might  have  her  with  him  all  the  days 
of  his  life.  And  then,  as  a  sudden  terror  of  loss,  that 
ever-present  foreboding,  the  reminder  of  man's  mor- 
tality, intruded,  as  it  does  inevitably  when  happiness 
seems  surest,  a  wave  of  passionate  fear  swept  over 
him  and  he  strained  her  almost  fiercely  to  his  heart. 
"  My  love  —  my  love ! "  he  whispered,  fervently,  "  God 
keep  you,  and  give  you  to  me  always!"  and  releasing 
her,  he  turned  quickly  and  disappeared  in  the  darkness. 

He  had  dined  and  was  sitting  in  his  library  glancing 
over  the  stack  of  letters  on  the  table,  the  accumulation 
of  the  ten  days'  absence,  when  the  shock  came.  He 
had  just  read  the  last  letter,  and  was  feeling  a  sense  of 

445 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

relief  on  getting  through  with  all  of  them,  being  eager 
to  return  to  Sibyl,  when  James  entered  with  a 
telegram. 

He  took  the  little  yellow  envelope  into  his  hand  with 
a  careless  jest  over  his  shoulder,  and  then  as  the  ser- 
vant left  the  room,  still  smiling,  and  thinking  of  Sibyl, 
he  tore  it  open.  He  read  these  words: 

"GRAND  HOTEL,  Cincinnati,  Ohio,  February  15. 
"  I  am  ill  and  desperate.    I  need  you.     Don't  refuse. 
Come  to  me. 

"  MARIAN." 

He  sat  for  a  few  moments,  staring  with  a  sort  of 
sinister  gleam  in  his  eyes,  clutching  the  thin  sheet  of 
paper  in  his  hand,  and  with  the  smile  on  his  features 
suddenly  become  frozen  and  ghastly.  All  at  once  he 
sprang  up,  standing  tall  and  still  in  the  center  of  the 
room.  Then  with  a  slow  and  courteous  questioning 
his  gaze  wandered  from  one  to  another  of  the  old 
portraits  on  the  walls.  A  piece  of  wood  on  the  fire 
rolled  out  on  the  hearth,  and  he  carefully  reached  for 
the  tongs  and  readjusted  it,  lingering  about  the  task. 
Then  he  returned  to  the  great  high-backed  chair  in 
which  his  grandfather  used  to  sit,  and  suddenly  he 
threw  back  his  head,  and  a  harsh,  discordant  laughter 
echoed  through  the  room.  "Alive  —  alive — ha,  alive!" 
he  kept  muttering  to  himself  like  a  half -crazed  old  man 
under  his  breath.  "But  there  was  some  mistake," 

446 


THE   GODS   ARE   JUST 

and  once  more  that  terrible,  hideous  laughter  rang  out — 
a  laughter  to  curdle  the  blood  in  one's  veins  —  and 
that  strange  muttering  began  again,  "a  mistake,  yes, 
a  mistake!  Marian  was  dead,  burned,  burned  to  a 
crisp  in  the  London  theater.  How  horrible  to  hear  one's 
flesh  sizzling  like  a  crackling!  But  Marian  was  dead, 
quite  dead,  dead  as  a  door-nail,  whatever  that  might 
be.  Oh,  yes,  he  knew;  he  had  once  looked  up  the 
phrase  in  a  dictionary.  He  liked  to  run  things  down 
till  he  knew  all  about  them.  Excellent  habit,  of  course. 
Gives  a  man  a  sort  of  fund  to  draw  on  when  he  needs 
it.  Once  in  court  —  " 

He  stopped  short.  What  —  what  was  it  that  had 
happened?  He  could  not  think  except  in  short,  dis- 
jointed sentences,  and  the  last  thought  would  drive 
out  the  one  that  preceded  it,  so  that  he  was  confused 
and  troubled,  and  piteous  in  his  helplessness.  A 
strange  indifference  was  stealing  over  him.  He  sprang 
up  again  and  began  to  move  up  and  down  the  room 
in  order  to  fight  off  the  lethargy.  But  it  was  necessary 
that  he  should  consider  —  something  was  required  of 
him,  a  decision,  action.  His  eyes  fell  on  the  telegram 
spread  out  on  the  table.  He  paused.  With  every  tick 
of  the  clock  its  meaning  became  clearer.  Slowly  his 
brain  returned  to  its  normal  action;  and  as  the  full 
purport  penetrated  him  of  this  last  blow,  the  thought 
of  Sibyl  came  bearing  down  upon  him  like  an  avalanche, 

447 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

and  he  lifted  his  arm  and  swore,  "I  will  not  —  by 
Heaven,  I  will  not  give  her  up ! " 

And  this  solemn,  defiant  determination  was  the  one 
thing  his  mind  would  dwell  upon.  He  would  not  be 
checkmated  in  the  game  of  life.  He  would  not  be 
made  a  prisoner  when  a  way  of  escape  was  still  open 
to  him.  He  would  get  a  divorce.  The  law  of  God 
and  man  would  give  him  the  freedom  he  craved.  His 
whole  being  rose  up  in  rebellion  against  the  insult  his 
destiny  seemed  to  be  offering  to  him,  and  he  refused 
to  take  any  but  the  natural,  elementary  view  by  which 
most  men  similarly  situated  would  have  been  controlled. 
Gone  now  was  the  strong,  sure  grasp  upon  the  larger 
things  of  life  to  which  through  suffering  and  the  slow 
process  of  evolution  he  had  seemed  to  reach  as  a 
result  of  that  highest  stage  in  personal  development 
which  is  attained  at  last  through  the  workings  of  the 
mysterious  trinity  —  the  physical,  then  the  physical 
united  to  the  mental,  and  finally  the  harmonious 
blending  of  the  physical,  the  mental,  and  the  spiritual. 

Step  by  step  he  went  over  from  the  beginning  the 
various  degrees  that  marked  his  acquaintance  with  the 
woman  who  had  brought  only  woe  and  disgrace  and 
desolation  upon  him,  and  who  now  in  this  last  daring 
revelation  of  herself  seemed  but  to  complete  the  tragedy 
whose  forces  had  been  set  in  motion  on  the  day  when 
he  asked  her  to  be  his  wife.  Then  his  thoughts  turned 

448 


THE    GODS   ARE    JUST 

to  the  mistaken  idea  of  honor  that  had  held  him  to  a 
compact  which  could  only  be  fulfilled  by  the  breaking 
of  a  higher  law,  the  law  that  forbids  a  loveless  mar- 
riage; and  like  one  running  a  race  with  conscience  he 
hurried  on  into  that  perplexed  period  that  followed 
upon  her  desertion  of  him  when  the  moral  sense  within 
him,  rendered  more  acute  by  the  profundity  of  his 
sorrows,  compelled  him  finally  to  wave  the  individual 
privilege  that  would  have  given  him  back  his  freedom 
for  the  sake  of  the  obligation  he  felt  toward  society  — 
an  obligation  that  had  forbidden  him  to  seek  for  a 
divorce,  in  view  of  present  evils. 

But  though  he  had  passed  speedily  out  of  the  first 
stage  —  the  stage  of  the  physical,  until  his  great  love 
for  Sibyl  was  allowed  to  blossom  into  the  perfect  flower 
it  was,  he  was  simply  developed  as  yet  toward  the 
mental,  his  attitude  in  relation  to  the  situation  being 
purely  an  intellectual  one,  and  his  point  of  view  that 
of  a  conventional  morality.  Up  to  that  time  he  had 
been  able  to  discern  the  sanctity  of  the  marriage  bond, 
but  not  in  its  deepest  meaning  the  sanctity  of  the 
marriage  relation;  and  this  last  conception,  which  had 
belonged  to  the  third  stage  —  the  dawn  of  the  spiritual 
—  the  coming  of  Sibyl  —  had  rushed  upon  him  in  all 
its  sweetness  and  vastness  of  significance  with  the  love 
of  her,  and  then  for  the  first  time  he  had  apprehended 
in  its  fulness  that  a  marriage  contract  does  not  make 

449 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

a  marriage,  and  that  the  sanctity  and  purity  of  the 
relation  depend  upon  the  attitude  of  soul  of  the  two 
persons  concerned  in  it. 

Day  by  day  this  conception  had  strengthened  through 
the  spiritual  soundness  of  the  love  that  existed  between 
himself  and  Sibyl.  Soul  and  sense  were  one  through 
the  right  of  a  mutual  harmony  of  being;  and  to-night, 
in  his  excruciating  agony  and  bitterness,  he  cried  out 
in  rebellion  against  the  stern  Nemesis  that  had  tracked 
him  up  to  the  very  verge  of  his  happiness.  By  subtle 
sophistries  he  sought  to  deceive  himself  into  the  belief 
that  the  still  face  confronting  him  was  not  the  face  of 
retributive  justice;  and  he  thought  of  his  duty  to  Sibyl. 
How  could  he  —  what  right  would  he  now  have,  even 
if  he  wished  it  —  But  he  could  not  yet  even  consider 
the  torture  of  giving  her  up.  He  would  free  himself, 
and  then  he  would  come  back  to  her,  and  then  — 

But  Sibyl  ?  What  would  be  her  answer  to  all  this  ? 
He  dared  not  think.  Yet  gradually  as  he  grappled 
with  this,  the  hardest  problem  that  had  ever  con- 
fronted him,  there  came  a  strange  stillness  to  his  pulses, 
a  stillness  as  of  death,  and  his  face  blanched.  Some- 
way, somehow,  the  problem  had  solved  itself!  For 
the  trait  of  impetuosity  which  was  on  the  surface 
most  pronounced  in  his  composition  was  really  tem- 
peramental and  not  a  part  of  his  character.  His 
dominating  characteristic  was  an  impulse  toward 

450 


THE    GODS   ARE    JUST 

truth  and  honor,  else  he  would  have  sunk  rather  than 
risen  in  the  midst  of  the  circumstances  in  which  he 
had  become  entangled;  and  he  saw  —  as  see  all  thought- 
ful persons  who  are  in  harmony  with  the  ideas  of  this 
great  era  we  belong  to,  an  era  of  scientific  enlighten- 
ment and  yet  of  highest  spiritual  development  —  that 
God  works  in  and  through  his  own  natural  laws,  that 
he  does  not  sit  afar  off  in  the  heavens  and  arbitrarily 
punish  those  who  do  not  honor  him  with  obedience. 
For  God  who  is  love  manifests  the  perfection  of  his 
love  through  the  steadfastness  of  his  laws,  and  he 
realized  that  the  tragedy  that  had  come  upon  him  was 
a  direct  consequence  of  his  own  sin  —  just  as  all 
tragedy  is  the  result  of  sin  of  a  more  or  less  vital  nature 
working  surely  to  its  own  logical  ends. 

The  temptation  he  had  yielded  to  on  the  afternoon 
of  that  fatal  drive  with  Marian  would  have  seemed 
to  some  men  a  small  one  to  set  in  motion  the  relentless 
wheels  of  tragedy,  yet  to  Roger,  accustomed  to  probe 
deeper  than  most  into  fundamental  principles,  know- 
ing that  when  the  normal,  healthful  feelings  of  life 
are  perverted  or  defied  the  forces  of  tragedy  are  in- 
evitably aroused,  the  recognition  now  came  with  a 
profound  awe  and  self-abasement  that  the  gods  are 
just  and  of  our  pleasant  vices  make  instruments  to 
scourge  us.  He  bowed  his  head. 

Slowly  the  moments  sank  into  hours.  The  wood 
451 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

fire  on  the  hearth  burned  low.  And  so  alone  with 
the  reality  of  Sin,  Roger  came  face  to  face  with  the 
mysteries,  and  learned  that  greatest  of  truths  which 
the  process  of  time  has  unfolded  to  man  —  "  All's  love, 
yet  all's  law."  While  uplifting  him,  comforting  him, 
there  came  to  his  soul  something  of  the  sublime  and 
lovely  vision  which  in  these  lines  Browning  attributes 
to  the  young  David  when,  seeking  to  drive  out  the 
evil  spirit  from  Saul,  he  mounts  to  a  clear  apprehen- 
sion of  the  uses  of  life: 

"  And  thus  looking  within  and  around  me,  I  ever  renew 
(With  that  stoop  of  the  soul  which  in  bending  upraises  it  too) 
The  submission  of  man's  nothing-perfect  to  God's  all-complete, 
As  by  each  new  obeisance  in  spirit,  I  climb  to  his  feet." 


452 


ROGER  AND  SIBYL 

HE  was  aroused  finally  by  the  large  clock  on  the 
stairway  sounding  the  hour  of  eleven,  the  slow,  full 
strokes  echoing  hollowly  through  the  silent  house, 
and  falling  upon  his  ear  like  a  solemn  summons  to 
duty.  He  started  up  and  looked  around  him  with  a 
sort  of  dull  wonderment  in  his  eyes,  just  as  if  he  were 
returning  at  the  end  of  a  lifetime,  old,  and  broken, 
and  weary,  and  half  expected  to  see  in  material  things 
also  some  manifestation  answering  to  the  change 
within  himself.  That  but  little  more  than  three 
hours  before  he  had  entered  that  room  in  all  the  gra- 
cious floodtide  of  youth  and  love  seemed  a  thing  past 
belief;  and  it  was  with  a  grim  sense  of  approbation 
that  his  glance  fell  upon  the  charred  bits  of  wood 
lying  amid  heaps  of  ashes  on  the  hearth,  and  he  realized 
that  the  last  spark  of  fire  had  died  out,  and  that  the 
room  had  grown  as  cold  and  vault-like  as  if  it  were  in 
reality  the  tomb  it  symbolized.  For  here  he  had  buried 
all  his  joy,  and  with  it  his  youth  forever. 

453 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

Presently  he  rose  and  crossed  the  room  a  trifle 
stiffly,  feeling  a  chill  and  heaviness  upon  him  that 
robbed  his  movements  of  their  usual  aliveness.  He 
drew  back  the  window  curtains.  The  lights  still 
burned  in  his  neighbor's  house.  His  gaze  traveled 
from  the  library,  where  doubtless  the  judge  sat  ab- 
sorbed in  the  history,  to  the  little  room  beyond,  which 
Sibyl  had  had  fitted  up  as  her  own  particular  abode, 
only  a  very  favored  few  ever  being  received  in  it,  and 
in  which  her  lovely  presence  had  always  seemed  to 
him  to  shine  like  a  jewel  in  its  proper  setting.  Was 
she  there  now  —  still  waiting  for  him,  in  the  soft  glow 
from  shaded  lights,  with  her  books  or  her  embroidery, 
or  better  still  her  own  thoughts? 

Then  he  came  back  into  the  center  of  the  room. 
For  a  moment  he  stood  in  deep  thought,  with  bowed 
head,  and  hands  tightly  clenched,  as  if  meditating  the 
hard,  immediate  plunge  his  brain  proposed.  All  at 
once  he  reached  for  the  telegram  on  the  table,  and  an 
instant  afterward  the  hall  door  opened  and  closed 
softly,  and  he  passed  out  into  the  night. 

He  went  round  the  corner  of  the  house,  crossed 
quickly  the  intervening  space,  and  approached  the 
judge's  house  by  the  rear.  The  servants  were  still 
laughing  and -talking  in  the  kitchen,  and  from  that  he 
concluded  that  the  final  securing  of  bolts  and  locks 
for  the  night  had  possibly  not  yet  been  accomplished. 

454 


ROGER   AND   SIBYL 

He  hoped  that  the  little  glass  door  at  the  end  of  the 
hall  that  led  by  a  flight  of  steps  into  the  garden  had 
been  overlooked.  He  turned  the  knob.  The  door 
yielded,  and  he  entered  the  dimly  lighted  passage. 

It  was  but  a  few  steps  to  her  door,  yet  his  feet  dragged 
so  slowly  that  the  short  distance  seemed  lengthened 
into  furlongs.  Even  with  his  hand  on  the  panel  he 
hesitated.  Should  he  tell  her  to-night?  Might  they 
not  have  five  or  ten  flawless  moments  together,  the 
shadow  driven  back  and  defied,  the  agony  of  the  past 
three  hours  forgotten?  For  a  moment  he  grappled 
with  his  temptation  —  the  longing  to  hold  her,  unsus- 
pecting of  the  blight  that  had  fallen  upon  their  young 
love,  close,  ever  closer  in  his  arms,  to  stifle  her  with 
his  kisses  when  wondering,  but  never  doubting,  she 
should  seek  to  know  the  reason  for  his  long  delay  in 
coming,  to  feel  again  the  warmth  and  sweetness  of  her 
caress,  the  exquisite  yielding  of  her  whole  being  to  his. 
Then  his  features  grew  stern  and  resolute.  A  pallor 
followed  upon  the  momentary  glow.  He  knocked 
softly. 

As  in  a  dream  he  heard  her  low  voice  bidding  him 
to  enter,  and  as  one  who  moves  scarcely  of  his  own 
volition  he  came  into  the  room  and  stood  tall  and  still 
beside  her. 

She  was  sitting  with  her  hands  clasped  in  her  lap  in  a 
chair  drawn  up  quite  close  to  the  fire,  and  her  expression 

455 


was  rapt  and  thoughtful,  luminous  in  that  tender 
effulgence  that  shines  like  a  glory  about  a  woman's 
face  when  alone  she  gives  herself  up  to  unrestrained 
adoration  of  the  man  she  loves.  All  her  soul  was  in 
her  eyes,  and  in  her  whole  attitude  there  was  the  peace 
and  poise  that  suggest  a  nature  profoundly  womanly 
and  profoundly  strong.  As  if  conscious  of  the  light 
that  had  but  lately  been  upon  it,  she  kept  her  face 
averted  and,  supposing  him  to  be  a  servant,  without 
turning  her  head  she  gave  some  simple  household 
direction. 

But  something  in  the  stillness  of  the  near-by  figure 
wrought  strangely  upon  her  senses.  She  looked  up 
quickly,  and  at  the  first  glimpse  of  him  she  uttered  a 
low,  glad  cry  and  sprang  to  her  feet.  An  instant  after- 
ward her  face  changed,  and  the  color  in  her  cheeks 
fled.  She  reached  forth  startled,  appealing  arms,  and 
then,  as  he  neither  moved  nor  spoke,  her  eyes  grew 
wide  with  horror,  and  with  a  wild  entreaty  became 
riveted  on  his  face.  She  could  not  get  her  breath,  and 
her  knees  were  trembling.  She  grasped  the  back  of 
the  chair  and  waited.  Her  lips  moved,  but  some  trance- 
like  spell  held  her,  and  she  was  unable  to  speak  a  word. 
And  then,  her  vague  terror  becoming  definite,  all  at 
once  she  started  toward  the  doorway. 

"My  father!"  she  gasped. 

But  he  intercepted  her  progress,  moving  quickly 
456 


ROGER   AND   SIBYL 

toward  the  door,  and  standing  with  his  back  against 
it. 

"  It  is  not  your  father,"  he  said  in  a  voice  that  fell 
strangely  on  her  ear.  "I  have  no  bad  news  to  bring 
you  of  him,  thank  God.  What  I  have  come  to  tell 
you  concerns  myself  —  and  you  —  and  one  other." 

The  tone  was  as  still  and  as  aloof  as  if  every  vestige 
of  feeling  had  died  in  him,  and  if  one  could  imagine  a 
corpse  speaking  it  would  be  with  some  such  dull  and 
lifeless  accent. 

Helpless,  she  stood  searching  his  white,  cold  face. 
She  took  a  step  nearer. 

"  What — what  is  it  ?  "  she  whispered,  huskily.  "  Oh, 
dear,  dearest,  can't  you  see  that  you  are  breaking  my 
heart?" 

Up  to  that  moment  he  had  kept  his  eyes  determinedly 
from  her,  but  at  the  ring  of  torture  that  sounded  in  her 
words,  he  turned  a  swift,  pitiful  glance  upon  her,  and 
a  sudden  shiver  swept  through  him.  But  in  a  moment 
he  had  steeled  himself  again;  and  with  the  change  in 
him  there  came  also  a  change  in  her. 

She  saw  the  tremendous  effort  at  restraint  he  was 
putting  upon  himself,  the  tenseness  of  muscle,  the 
death-like  calm.  Concealing  her  own  agitation  by  a 
superb  summoning  of  composure,  she  wheeled  a  chair 
for  him  up  before  the  fire,  and  as  soothingly  as  if  she 
were  speaking  to  a  little  troubled  child  asked  him  to 

457 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

sit  down.  She  was  smiling  softly  when  she  seated 
herself  in  a  low  chair  beside  him,  and  there  was  in  her 
manner  a  complete  ignoring  of  all  evil  —  just  as  if 
there  were  in  his  love  for  her  such  a  mighty  shield, 
such  an  all-encircling  and  sure  defense,  it  was  not 
possible  for  her  really  to  fear  anything.  She  leaned 
toward  him  and  with  her  eyes  still  searching  his  face 
rested  her  clasped  hands  on  his  knee.  Once  more  her 
face  was  serene  and  very  beautiful  in  its  perfect  trust- 
fulness. 

"  Now,  dear,  what  is  it  ?  "  she  asked. 

At  her  touch  he  drew  back  as  if  she  had  struck  him, 
and  his  frame  shook  as  from  an  ague.  His  eyes  met 
hers  for  an  instant,  and  turned  miserably  toward  the 
fire.  He  could  not  speak.  Her  hand  closed  softly 
over  his.  "Dear,"  she  whispered,  "dear!" 

But  he  shook  himself  almost  roughly  free  from  her, 
and  pushed  his  chair  away. 

She  looked  up  inexpressibly  startled.  Had  she  been 
a  woman  with  a  shade  less  of  pride  she  would  have 
suffered  acutely  under  his  repulse.  But  her  self- 
respect  was  of  a  kind  to  sustain  her  though  the  shock 
was  great.  Mute  and  spellbound  her  eyes  still  searched 
his  face,  finding  no  answer. 

He  still  sat  wrapped  in  that  strange,  impenetrable 
gloom  from  which  no  word  nor  caress  of  hers  could 
rouse  him,  his  face  haggard  and  drawn,  his  eyes  glassy 

458 


ROGER   AND   SIBYL 

and  unseeing,  while  his  whole  personality  seemed  to  be 
slowly  receding  from  her.  She  thought  of  him  as  he 
had  been  but  a  few  hours  before  —  as  he  had  been  in 
those  impassioned,  boyish  letters  he  had  sent  her  from 
New  York,  when,  no  matter  what  he  had  set  out  to 
say,  he  was  very  apt  to  end  every  other  sentence  with 
the  repetition  "  I  love  you  —  I  love  you ! "  How  those 
three  words  had  leaped  and  flashed  over  the  closely 
written  pages  until  the  entire  letter  seemed  aflame  with 
them!  "Darling,  I  have  never  been  away  from  you 
for  one  hour  —  I  love  you ! "  he  had  said  in  the  last 
one,  "  I  take  you  with  me  everywhere.  I  see  you  —  I 
hear  you  —  I  hold  you  in  my  arms  —  I  Love  You ! " 
resorting  at  last  to  capitals  through  an  evident  mistrust 
of  anything  less  emphatic  to  express  him.  How 
irresistibly  fascinating  he  had  been! 

She  gave  a  sudden  gasp,  and  her  face  paled.  But 
she  sat  perfectly  still,  waiting  until  he  should  speak. 
A  sort  of  wide  patience  and  comprehension  rendered 
her  very  quiet,  but  she  was  suffering  intensely  again, 
and  as  his  eyes  returned  once  more  to  hers,  a  stifled 
groan  broke  from  him.  Then,  turning  his  face  away 
that  he  might  not  see  the  desolation  that  he  was  about 
to  make,  without  a  word  he  handed  her  the  telegram. 

In  silence  she  took  it  into  her  hands.  In  silence  she 
read  it.  For  the  space  of  several  minutes  the  little 
room  was  as  noiseless  as  a  crypt.  He  could  not  bring 

459 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

himself  to  look  at  her,  dreading  the  effect  of  the  blight 
upon  her  soft  loveliness,  and  feeling  himself  as  power- 
less and  as  despairing  as  a  bankrupt  husbandman  in 
the  presence  of  the  devastating  forces  that  are  destined 
to  destroy  his  harvest.  No  sweeter  flower  of  hope  had 
ever  blossomed  for  any  man,  and  just  as  his  hand  was 
reaching  for  the  perfect  fruit  —  with  a  sudden  madness 
in  the  brain  he  sprang  up  and  began  to  pace  up  and 
down  the  narrow  space  of  the  apartment.  Finally  he 
paused,  and  at  last  with  an  effort  turned  toward  her. 

A  swift  alarm  pierced  him  like  a  spear.  Had  she 
fainted,  he  asked  himself  quickly,  as  he  knelt  beside 
her.  Her  head  was  resting  against  the  back  of  the 
chair  and  her  eyes  were  closed.  One  arm  hung  limply 
at  her  side,  and  the  telegram  had  fallen  from  her  hand 
and  had  caught  in  the  flounce  of  lace  on  her  skirt. 
Every  vestige  of  color  had  retreated  from  her  face, 
and  she  was  like  marble  in  her  whiteness  and  stillness. 
He  grasped  her  hand.  It  was  cold  as  the  hand  of  the 
dead.  She  did  not  seem  to  breathe. 

"Sibyl,  for  God's  sake  speak  to  me!"  he  cried, 
"speak  to  me!" 

For  an  instant  she  did  not  stir,  and  in  a  panic  he 
bent  over  her.  Then  a  long-drawn  sigh  like  the  quiv- 
ering and  shudder  of  an  aspen  when  the  wind  passes 
over  it  shook  her,  and  slowly  the  waxen  lids  were 
raised.  She  did  not  move,  and  with  her  head  still 

460 


ROGER   AND   SIBYL 

leaning  against  the  back  of  the  chair  her  eyes  rested 
on  his  agonized  face.  A  moment  freighted  with 
eternity  passed. 

"You — you  will  go  to  her,"  she  said,  at  length,  still 
studying  him  with  a  concentration  of  scrutiny  to  which 
all  her  vital  powers  seemed  to  lend  themselves. 

He  bowed  his  head  and  rose.  But  his  lips  were 
sealed. 

She  searched  his  face  with  desperate  eagerness. 
Once  more  it  was  unrevealing  as  granite.  Her  breath 
came  ragged  and  torn.  She  was  trembling  from  head 
to  foot. 

"You  will  go  to  her?"  she  repeated,  with  a  sob  in 
her  voice  and  a  frantic  questioning  in  her  eyes. 

He  paused,  helpless,  before  her.  Then  he  looked 
quickly  away. 

He  had  begun  that  dreary  march  up  and  down  the 
room  again,  but  at  her  words  he  came  to  a  sudden  halt. 

"I  must  go  to  her,"  he  assented,  dully. 

She  leaned  quickly  forward.  The  pallor  had  left 
her  face,  but  a  dark,  peculiar  brilliancy  shone  in  the 
violet  eyes,  and  there  was  in  her  aspect  something 
strange  and  almost  supernatural  that  made  his  heart 
stand  still. 

"  You  —  will  —  take  her  back  ?  "  The  low,  hesi- 
tating, but  thrillingly  persuasive  voice  fell  upon  his 
ear,  baffling  and  terrifying  him  as  to  her  meaning. 

461 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

Once  more  she  looked  deep,  deep,  with  that  same 
strained  intensity  of  gaze,  into  his  eyes,  to  be  met  this 
time  by  a  desperate  answering  inquiry. 

Then  he  started  and  came  and  stood  beside  her 
chair;  and  presently,  as  if  some  marvelous  light  had 
suddenly  shone  within  her,  revealing  the  soul  back  of 
the  lovely  flesh,  his  expression  changed.  His  features 
relaxed,  softened,  and  a  calm  that  was  almost  majestic 
in  its  simplicity  seemed  to  rest  upon  him.  Again  their 
eyes  met,  and  at  last  he  understood. 

"  I  must  take  her  back,"  he  responded,  very  softly, 
"  and  may  God  give  me  grace  to  do  His  will ! " 

Her  lips  moved  as  in  prayer,  and  a  great  stillness 
wrapped  her  round  about  as  she  bowed  her  head.  All 
at  once  she  rose  and  held  herself  at  her  full  height. 
A  new  pride  and  dignity  were  all  about  her,  and  on 
her  face  there  was  a  look  of  exaltation;  for  the  assur- 
ance she  had  sought  had  been  borne  in  upon  her,  and 
she  knew  now  that  alone  he  had  climbed  to  that  great 
height  from  which  together,  like  disembodied  spirits, 
they  might  look  down  and  survey  a  mutual  sacrifice. 
Never  had  he  seemed  to  belong  to  her  so  absolutely 
as  in  that  moment  of  relinquishment.  Never  had  his 
love  for  her,  sweet  as  it  had  been  to  her,  seemed  so 
much  the  perfect  thing  she  now  knew  it  to  be.  A  sort 
of  holy  joy  possessed  her,  that  lifted  her  away  from 
every  thought  of  the  loneliness  and  sorrow  to  which 

462 


ROGER   AND   SIBYL 

his  decision  consigned  them  both,  and  set  her  upon  a 
mountain  of  transfiguration  —  the  sublime  summit  from 
which  the  pure  in  heart,  survey  the  cross  afar  and 
obtain  heavenly  consolation. 

Throughout  that  mad  whirl  of  thought  and  feeling 
that  followed  upon  chaos,  one  thing  alone  stood  out 
after  the  first  delirium  of  pain  caused  by  his  communi- 
cation had  a  little  subsided  —  a  great  longing  that  he 
should  not  fail;  and  it  was  characteristic  of  her  hi  her 
supreme  moment  that  all  other  consideration  should 
sink  into  insignificance  beside  the  hope  that  he  should 
prove  himself  faithful  to  the  high  standard  he  had  set 
up,  and  thus  add  one  more  hero  to  the  world.  Every 
impulse  leading  toward  his  unhappy  marriage  she 
understood  and  long  ago  had  pardoned  as  only  the 
nobler  and  purer  order  of  woman  can  understand  and 
pardon;  every  call  of  honor  that  had  compelled  him  to 
yoke  his  life  with  one  whose  inherent  nature  could 
only  be  in  continual  antagonism  to  his  own;  every 
motive  of  lofty  sacrifice  that  had  constrained  him  to 
endure  a  bondage  from  which  he  might  have  been 
free,  had  not  a  sense  of  obligation  toward  his  fellows 
nerved  him  bravely  to  endure;  every  thought  and  every 
heart  throb  that  had  swayed  him  she  had  read  as  one 
reads  an  open  page,  and  in  approval,  and  reverence, 
and  profound  devotion  her  spirit  had  bowed  before 
the  being  large  enough  to  do  what  he  had  done.  But 

463 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

under  this  last  test  his  character  had  been  subjected  to 
a  fiercer  heat  than  that  which  surrounds  a  metal  in  a 
crucible,  and  she  had  waited,  breathless. 

She  stood  beside  him  now  in  an  awed  silence  for  a 
moment,  and  then  she  came  a  step  nearer  and  he 
could  feel  the  soft  fluttering  of  her  breath  against  his 
cheek  as  he  bent  down  his  head  to  her.  "Dear,  it  is 
the  end,"  she  said  in  a  voice  whose  sweetness  pierced 
him  through  and  through,  "the  end  of  all  our  beauti- 
ful dreams,  of  all  our  blissful  hours  of  love.  But  oh, 
believe,  try  to  believe  that  the  best  of  fulfilment 
already  has  been  ours.  Let  nothing  rob  you  of  that 
peace.  And  I  —  I  will  never  forget.  Every  morning 
when  I  wake  and  look  up  into  the  sky  and  see  the  same 
sun  shining  that  made  the  earth  glorious  for  us,  I 
shall  think  of  you,  and  I  shall  know  that  God's  bless- 
ing is  still  resting  on  the  world,  and  that  it  is  for  both 
of  us  as  well  as  for  every  tiny  blade  of  grass.  And  the 
stars  and  the  moon  will  tell  me  that  too,  and  I  shall 
hear  it  in  every  breeze;  and  it  will  make  me  strong 
to  wait  until  He  shall  give  you  back  to  me.  The  time 
may  not  be  long.  If  not  in  this  life,  then  in  some 
other  we  shall  surely  be  everything  to  each  other 
again.  Oh,  dear,  dearest,  do  not  look  at  me  like 
that!" 

She  had  been  smiling  bravely  up  at  him  through 
her  tears,  but  at  sight  of  the  agony  in  his  eyes  she 

464 


ROGER   AND   SIBYL 

suddenly  broke  off  and  put  up  piteous,  imploring 
hands.  He  caught  them  and  crushed  them  in  his, 
and  half  frightened  she  drew  back  from  him,  tremu- 
lous and  thrilled.  A  warm  crimson  swept  to  her  brow, 
receded,  and  left  her  very  pale. 

"Please  go  —  go  quickly,"  she  whispered,  huskily. 

For  an  instant  he  hesitated,  then  curbing  the  mighty 
wave  of  passion  that  swept  over  him,  he  dropped  her 
hands  and  moved  away  from  her.  His  face  was  lined 
and  worn  under  the  stress  of  the  terrible  struggle  he 
had  passed  through,  and  his  hands  shook.  He  stood 
with  bowed  head  before  her.  But  presently  he  came 
back  to  her  side,  and  she  saw  that  he  was  calm. 

"Good-by,"  he  said,  brokenly,  yet  with  a  courage 
that  rose  to  meet  her  own,  "good-by.  Nothing  — 
nothing  can  really  separate  us.  Through  this  life  and 
through  all  eternity  I  am  yours.  These  arms  that  have 
held  you  shall  hold  no  other,  and  the  lips  that  yours 
have  touched  shall  be  sacred  to  you  forever.  It  may 
be  a  lifetime  to  wait  —  it  may  be  but  a  matter  of  a 
few  years.  Long  or  short  it  will  find  me  the  same, 
unchanged  and  unchangeable  —  waiting,  always  wait- 
ing." 

And  then  as  he  took  her  icy  hands  in  his  for  an 
instant,  he  bent  down  his  lips  to  them.  "  God  help  us, 
my  beloved!"  he  said.  And  when  she  raised  her 
eyes  he  was  gone. 

465 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  STOOP  OF  THE  SOUL 

A  FEBRUARY  sun  was  struggling  to  pierce  the  somber 
heaviness  that  overhung  the  Cincinnati  streets  as  Roger 
went  up  the  steps  of  the  Grand  Hotel  on  the  following 
morning.  It  was  eleven  o'clock,  and  he  had  but  a 
few  moments  before  arrived.  There  had  been  no 
dallying  with  his  resolution,  and  with  a  steadfastness 
of  conviction  that  differentiated  him  widely  from 
many  of  his  type  he  was  without  misgivings,  though 
more  miserable  than  most  men  could  endure  to  be 
and  live.  His  face  was  white  and  set,  but  he  walked 
with  a  firm,  sure  step  —  the  step  with  which  nobles 
marched  to  the  guillotine  and  in  all  ages  the  heroic 
have  moved  forward  to  their  doom,  hearing  ever 
above  earth's  clamor  the  sound  of  martial  music. 
He  had  not  long  to  wait,  and  in  less  than  a  quarter  of 
an  hour  after  entering  the  hotel  he  was  being  directed 
down  a  long  corridor  by  an  attendant  who  finally 
paused  before  a  doorway  with  the  laconic  remark, 
"This  is  the  room,  sir." 

466 


THE   STOOP   OF   THE   SOUL 

He  knocked,  and  a  voice  within  responded  faintly. 
He  opened  the  door,  closed  it  softly  behind  him,  and 
stood  only  a  step  beyond  the  threshold,  his  eye  sweeping 
the  shadowy  apartment  with  a  swift,  inquiring  gaze. 

The  room  was  in  the  characteristic  disarray  which 
he  always  associated  with  Marian,  and  which,  even 
before  he  had  discovered  her  sitting  in  a  large  chair 
near  the  window  brought  her  vividly  before  him.  At 
his  entrance,  she  made  a  feeble  attempt  to  rise,  and 
then,  as  if  the  effort  were  too  much  for  her,  sank  back 
languidly  among  her  cushions,  leaning  quickly  for- 
ward the  next  instant  and  watching  his  face  with  a 
timid,  burning  look  in  her  eyes.  He  saw  her  and 
came  forward.  But  as  his  gaze  took  in  the  full  details 
of  her  appearance,  he  checked  an  involuntary  ex- 
clamation, and  something  like  horror  —  horror  tinc- 
tured with  pity  —  traced  itself  upon  his  features. 

In  silence  he  stood  before  her,  shocked  beyond 
measure  and  almost  mistrustful  of  his  senses.  That 
the  altered  being  before  him  was  really  Marian  seemed 
a  thing  incredible.  Every  hint  of  the  voluptuous 
beauty  that  had  been  hers  had  vanished ;  gone  were  the 
tints  of  rose  and  pearl,  the  exquisitely  molded  form,  all 
the  soft  allurement  of  the  flesh,  and  instead  a  woman 
bowed  and  broken,  old  before  her  time,  and  emaciated 
to  a  mere  shadow,  looked  up  at  him  out  of  deep,  cavern- 
ous eyes  whose  utter  misery  she  made  no  effort  to 

467 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

conceal.  Presently  she  shivered,  and  drew  the  fur 
cape  she  wore  over  her  loose  white  wool  gown  a  little 
closer  about  her.  She  broke  into  a  hollow,  bitter  sort 
of  laugh  that  fell  upon  his  ears  as  discordant  as  would 
seem  the  sound  of  merriment  echoing  from  a  charnel- 
house. 

"Perhaps  I  should  have  warned  you,"  she  said; 
"ghosts  are  somewhat  disconcerting." 

"  You  have  been  —  you  are  still  desperately  ill," 
he  responded,  lamely,  keeping  his  eyes  in  an  unwilling 
stare  riveted  upon  her  face. 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  turned  away  a 
trifle  petulantly. 

"Sit  down,  please."  She  motioned  to  a  chair 
opposite  her,  and  he  took  it  mechanically.  For  several 
moments  she  leaned  back  and  closed  her  eyes  as  if 
unconscious  of  his  presence,  pushing  away  with  one 
hand  the  thin,  fading  strands  about  her  temples, 
where  the  hair  had  once  grown  thick  and  tawny  as  a 
lion's  mane.  With  a  sense  of  merciful  protection, 
the  desire  to  shield  her  from  even  his  own  scrutiny, 
he  looked  away,  and  as  he  did  so  his  glance  wandered 
from  the  costly  fur  she  wore  to  the  confusion  of  articles 
on  her  dressing-table,  some  of  them  very  rare  and 
beautiful,  and  finally  rested  upon  the  luxurious  bits 
of  feminine  apparel  scattered  here  and  there  which  in 
her  carelessness  she  had  neglected  to  put  away.  His 

468 


THE   STOOP    OF   THE   SOUL 

brows  contracted  under  the  acuteness  of  his  pain  and 
humiliation,  and  he  sat  looking  down  at  the  ground 
waiting  for  her  to  speak,  but  himself  unable  to  utter 
a  word.  She  opened  her  eyes. 

"I  am  ill,"  she  said,  as  if  she  were  assenting  im- 
mediately to  his  comment,  "and  dying,  I  believe." 
Her  voice  was  as  indifferent  and  as  lifeless  as  if  she 
were  uttering  some  inanity  about  the  weather  or  the 
most  tiresome  and  self-evident  of  platitudes.  "That 
is  why  I  sent  for  you.  I  have  a  strange  thing  to  pro- 
pose. I  want  you  — "  All  at  once  she  broke  into 
that  same  low,  bitter,  repellent  laughter,  "I  want  you 
to  make  'an  honest  woman'  of  me  again." 

He  looked  up  quickly  and  his  face  paled. 

"It  is  not  in  my  power  to  do  that." 

She  leaned  toward  him  with  feverish  intensity. 
Her  breath  came  in  short  gasps.  He  could  see  that 
she  was  shivering  from  head  to  foot,  and  that  she  hung 
upon  his  answer  in  a  frenzy  of  apprehension. 

"It  is  in  your  power  to  take  me  back,  isn't  it? 
I  am  asking  you  to  do  that.  You  —  you  are  not 
married  ?  " 

The  muscles  about  his  mouth  hardened.  He  felt 
her  eyes  fixed  upon  him  with  a  lynx-like  penetration. 

"I  am  not  married,"  he  said,  at  length. 

He  would  not  look  at  her,  but  he  heard  the  quick 
sigh  of  relief  she  gave  at  his  words  and  was  conscious 

469 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

of  the  complete  relaxation  of  muscles  with  which  she 
received  his  assurance. 

She  toyed  with  the  silken  tassel  that  hung  from  the 
heavy  cord  at  her  waist. 

"I  cannot  explain  this  strange  longing  I  have  for 
respectability,"  she  observed.  "It  is  new  with  me, 
and  I  cannot  account  for  it  unless  it  is  something  that 
is  universal  and  that  at  times  every  person  feels.  I 
used  not  to.  Don't  you  remember  that  I  told  you 
once  that  I  loathed  the  ethical  ?  It  was  perfectly  true. 
I  think  I  could  dare  to  live  my  life  out  in  a  steady 
defiance  of  morality,  as  long  as  I  should  be  strong  and 
beautiful  and  death  did  not  threaten  —  the  sort  of  de- 
fiance I  mean,  of  course,  that  I  have  been  guilty  of.  I 
don't  mean"  —  she  looked  away,  and  a  faint  color  crept 
into  her  thin  cheeks  —  "I  don't  mean  evil  in  the  usual, 
degraded  sense.  A  great  love  always  dignifies  license. 
There  was  never  any  one  but  him.  I  don't  know  that 
I  can  make  you  understand.  No  one  who  has  not 
loved  as  I  loved  could  understand.  It  was  a  madness, 
a  fire  unquenchable,  and  before  it  principle  became 
only  a  puny  thing  to  be  swept  down  at  the  very  first 
blast.  I  know  it  all  sounds  horrible  to  you,  but  that 
is  only  because  you  have  never  loved.  Let  the  flame 
be  hot  enough,  and  one  person  will  act  precisely  as 
another  person;  and  we  are  all  in  one  boat,  and 
there's  no  pilot  at  the  helm,"  recalling  one  of  Waller's 

470 


speeches,  and  turning  her  face  suddenly  away  from 
him. 

He  made  no  effort  to  combat  her  with  arguments, 
and  presently  she  began  again.  The  faint  glow  had 
faded  quickly  from  her  face.  Her  voice  was  an  old 
woman's  voice,  querulous  and  very  wearied. 

"I  don't  know  why,  caring  as  little  as  I  do  for  a 
respectable  living,  I  should  care  so  much  for  a  respect- 
able dying.  It  may  be  fear  —  superstition,  perhaps. 
But  I  do.  I  prefer  to  die  under  the  shelter  of  your 
protection,  your  name.  It  is  a  good  deal  to  ask,  and 
with  most  men  such  a  request  would  be  worse  than 
useless.  I  doubt  that  there  is  more  than  one  man  in  a 
hundred  thousand,  wronged  as  you  have  been,  who 
would  listen  to  such  an  appeal  for  an  instant.  I  be- 
lieve you  are  the  hundred  thousandth.  That  is  why 
I  sent  for  you.  But  before  you  decide  anything  let 
me  ask  you  this  question:  If  the  case  were  reversed 
and  you  had  wronged  me  as  I  have  wronged  you,  and 
you  came  and  asked  me  to  take  you  back  again, 
wouldn't  you  expect  me  to  do  it?" 

"  Doubtless  I  should." 

"  Isn't  it  what  every  other  man  would  expect  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  it  is." 

"And  haven't  I  heard  you  say  that  you  believed 
that  there  should  be  the  same  standard  of  morality 
for  men  as  for  women  ?  " 

471 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

He  acknowledged  it.  She  rose  and  drew  back  the 
curtain  a  little,  and  then  she  pulled  her  chair  a  little 
nearer  to  him  and  fixed  her  eyes  on  his  face.  The 
light  fell  full  upon  it.  She  studied  him  closely. 

"You  too  have  changed,"  she  remarked,  quietly. 
"You  look  many  years  older  —  almost  as  if  you  had 
really  suffered.  I  wonder  if  you  have.  They  say  it 
is  only  irrational  suffering  that  ages;  the  rest  simply 
beautifies.  At  least  you  have  not  yet  grown  ugly  as  I 
have.  Does  vanity  ever  die  in  a  woman?  How  it 
hurts  me  that  you  should  see  me  like  this !  I  had  never 
meant  that  you  should  see  me  again.  When  I  sent 
you  the  London  newspaper  — " 

"  Did  you  send  me  that  paper  ?  "  he  broke  in,  harshly. 

She  looked  him  in  the  eyes. 

"I  did.  I  meant  to  die  to  you  forever.  I  wanted 
to  give  you  back  your  freedom.  I  was  in  the  mood  to 
make  atonement,  for  he  had  just  died,  and  nothing, 
nothing  on  earth  made  any  difference  to  me  personally 
any  more." 

"  Then  he  is  dead ! "  he  exclaimed,  quickly,  turning 
his  shamed  and  haggard  face  toward  her  once  more. 

She  looked  at  him  wonderingly  for  an  instant,  as  if 
she  half  believed  him  to  be  suddenly  bereft  of  his 
senses.  Her  lips  parted  in  the  old  way,  and  her  breath 
came  quickly  in  little  fluttering  gasps  as  it  did  always 
when  she  was  under  any  sort  of  excitement.  All  at 

472 


THE   STOOP   OF  THE   SOUL 

once  a  swift  illumination  overspread  her  features. 
She  quickly  dropped  her  eyes.  Then  he  didn't  know. 
Her  story,  that  all  his  and  Waller's  world  must  be 
familiar  with,  in  some  way  had  eluded  him.  A  savage 
elation  took  possession  of  her,  and  she  hugged  her  joy 
to  her  breast.  It  was  almost  as  if  in  that  moment 
Waller  were  given  back  to  her. 

"Yes,  he  is  dead,"  she  replied,  softly. 

She  rose  and  fumbled  again  with  the  window  cur- 
tain, but  as  Roger  stood  beside  her,  she  motioned  him 
to  be  seated,  coming  back  to  her  chair,  having  made 
the  room  shadowy  again. 

"  I  sent  you  the  paper,"  she  said  in  a  cold,  perfectly 
callous  voice,  but  with  something  of  the  old  insolent 
defiance  of  opinion,  as  she  studied  him  narrowly  from 
under  her  half -closed  eyelids.  "It  was  strictly  true 
that  I  was  dead;  and  if  it  was  not  an  actual,  outward 
fire  that  had  consumed  me,  but  an  inward  one,  what 
mattered  it?  I  was  dead.  I  wanted  to  be  dead,  and 
I  meant  to  show  you  one  kindness,  just  one;  and  the 
way  to  do  that  seemed  to  be  the  way  I  took.  I  meant, 
I  hope  you  will  believe  me,  I  meant  to  be  dead  to  you 
forever.  I  thought  I  could  keep  to  that  position,  and 
that  practically  it  would  be  just  the  same  as  if  the 
newspaper  account  were  a  correct  one.  I  think  I  could 
have  kept  to  it  if  my  health  had  not  failed,  and  this 
horrible  feeling  had  not  grasped  me  and  made  me  a 

473 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

poor  cringing  thing  eager  to  make  some  sort  of  com- 
promise with  decency  at  the  approach  of  death." 

He  did  not  answer  for  a  moment,  and  when  he  spoke 
his  voice  almost  startled  him  by  its  strangeness.  It 
seemed  a  thing  incredible  that  he  should  be  thus 
quietly  sitting  there  listening  to  such  a  recital  from  the 
woman  who  had  been  —  great  God !  —  who  still  was 
his  wife.  The  roar  of  the  city  down  below,  the  faint 
February  sunlight  struggling  in  at  the  windows,  the 
picturesque  disorder  of  the  hotel  bed-chamber  with  its 
oppressive  aroma  of  luxury  —  contributed  more  by  her 
own  belongings  than  by  its  appointments  —  were  like 
things  seen  and  heard  in  that  half -sleeping,  half -waking 
state  that  is  the  torment  of  the  victim  of  fever.  It  was 
only  with  a  great  effort  he  was  able  to  rouse  himself 
and  put  the  question  to  her  which  out  of  the  confusion 
of  thought  that  beset  him  forced  itself  for  no  particular 
reason  to  the  front. 

"  Was  there  —  some  other  person  —  "  he  halted  and 
began  again.  "One  of  the  names  mentioned  in  the 
list  that  the  newspaper  gave  was  Marian  Day." 

She  inclined  her  head  slightly.  "  I  was  the  Marian 
Day  referred  to.  You  thought  that  it  was  possibly 
the  name  of  some  other  unfortunate  ?  " 

He  bowed. 

"I  am  trying  to  understand  what  you  have  to  tell 
me,"  he  answered,  stiffly  and  formally,  his  nerves  all 

474 


THE   STOOP   OF   THE   SOUL 

on  edge  from  the  strain  she  was  keeping  him  under. 
"  Please  remember  that  I  am  wholly  in  the  dark." 

She  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and  whisked  the  silken 
tassel  lightly. 

"It  is  all  very  simple.  I  was  a  member  of  that 
particular  opera  company.  After  we  went  abroad  we 
both  decided  that  for  many  reasons  it  was  best  that  I 
should  go  on  the  stage.  He  — "  she  hesitated  an 
instant  and  looked  away  — "  was  able  to  secure  a 
position  for  me  by  means  of  influence  that  he  brought 
to  bear.  Wealth  is  apt  to  be  all-powerful.  He  spared 
no  effort.  I  had  been  singing  in  the  company  for 
several  weeks  or  more  on  the  afternoon  when  the  fire 
occurred.  I  was  a  sad  failure.  I  lacked  the  necessary 
training,  and  I  couldn't  act  at  all.  My  voice  was  only 
mediocre,  after  all,  it  seems,  though  it  was  a  surprise 
to  me  to  make  that  discovery." 

"  Why  did  you  wish  to  go  on  the  stage  ?  " 

Roger  put  the  inquiry  shortly,  as  if  every  word  were 
drawn  from  him  against  his  will. 

She  stirred  a  trifle  uneasily.  "  I  have  just  told  you. 
Both  of  us  thought  it  best." 

"  Was  it  his  suggestion  or  yours  ? "  he  persisted, 
sternly,  with  his  eyes  on  her  face. 

She  evaded. 

"  I  always  wanted  to  go  on  the  stage.  I  was  glad  of 
the  opportunity  at  last.  I  still  believe  that  I  would 

475 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

have  succeeded  if  —  if  I  had  not  been  so  much  occu- 
pied —  with  him.  I  could  no  more  sing  on  the  days 
when  he  was  out  of  humor  than  the  birds  can  when  the 
clouds  are  gathering,  unless  the  little  startled  cries 
they  give  can  be  called  singing.  My  voice  was  like 
that  —  all  fearful,  and  harsh,  and  uncertain.  The 
manager  was  disappointed  and  indignant.  He  raved 
and  threatened.  But  at  times  I  was  able  to  do  better. 
The  sun  would  shine,  and  then  my  voice  was  not  such 
a  bad  voice  and  I  was  applauded  and  people  overlooked 
my  clumsy  acting.  One  day  my  sun  set  never  to  rise 
again." 

She  paled  a  little,  but  she  spoke  without  a  tremor, 
and  began  again  quickly. 

"The  next  week  after  his  death  I  went  back  to 
the  theater.  But  it  was  no  use.  On  the  morning  of 
the  day  of  the  fire  I  had  a  violent  altercation  with  the 
manager.  He  hinted  that  after  the  night's  perform- 
ance he  intended  to  break  with  me.  I  determined 
to  forestall  him,  and  I  made  my  arrangements  speedily. 
My  things  were  packed  and  sent  to  the  station.  That 
afternoon  when  I  went  to  the  theater  I  had  with  me 
all  the  money  I  possessed  and  all  my  jewels.  I  meant 
to  leave  as  soon  as  the  opera  was  over  for  Paris.  I 
sang  wretchedly.  Once  I  encountered  him  at  one  of 
the  wings.  He  spoke  roughly.  I  went  to  my  dressing- 
room  and  an  impulse  seized  me.  The  performance 

476 


THE   STOOP    OF   THE   SOUL 

was  only  half  over,  but  why,  I  thought,  should  I 
submit  to  his  insolence  any  longer?  I  did  not  stop  to 
think.  In  two  minutes  I  was  down  the  stairs  and  out 
in  the  street,  feeling  the  cool  air  against  my  cheek  and 
walking  like  some  one  escaped  from  a  madhouse." 

A  sudden  grayness  gathered  about  her  lips  and  he 
looked  at  her  in  alarm.  He  started  up. 

"  Don't  talk  any  more  now  if  it  disturbs  you  so,"  he 
commanded,  gently. 

She  waved  him  back.  Her  manner  had  grown  sud- 
denly wild  and  strained,  and  something  of  the  desper- 
ation of  the  time  she  was  describing  seemed  to  awake 
in  her  and  urge  her  to  a  sort  of  breathless  haste. 

"Let  me  go  on." 

He  sat  down. 

"  I  had  gone  but  a  few  yards  when  I  was  startled  by 
hearing  shrieks  and  hurrying  steps  in  the  direction  of 
the  theater.  A  frantic,  groaning,  surging  crowd  swept 
past  me,  and  in  an  instant  it  seemed  the  air  was  filled 
with  hideous,  terrifying  sounds,  and  pandemonium 
was  let  loose  on  every  side.  Then  I  knew  that  the 
theater  was  on  fire.  I  sat  down  on  a  doorstep  and 
waited.  I  was  faint  and  ill.  Suddenly  I  closed  my 
eyes.  I  don't  know  how  long  I  sat  there,  but  when  I 
came  to  myself  it  was  getting  dusk,  and  the  streets 
were  a  little  quieter.  I  heard  two  men  talking  as  they 
passed.  They  were  speaking  of  the  number  of  lives 

477 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

that  were  lost  —  an  appalling  number,  including  every 
member,  they  said,  of  the  opera  company." 

Once  more  he  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"  Shall  I  get  you  a  glass  of  water  ? "  he  asked,  in  a 
low,  anxious  voice. 

She  shook  her  head.  "  I  staggered  to  my  feet  and 
drew  down  my  veil.  A  strange  feeling  was  over  me. 
I  was  dead  —  and  yet  not  dead.  I  could  still  feel  the 
earth  under  my  feet,  the  wind  against  my  cheek,  and 
yet  —  every  member  of  the  opera  company  was  burned 
—  the  men  had  said  it,  and  they  had  just  come  from 
the  theater,  and  they  knew.  I  had  lived  through  a 
week  of  torture,  the  first  week  without  him,  but  now 
I  felt  almost  joy  again.  It  was  bliss  to  be  dead  —  to 
be  wiped  out  of  existence  just  as  if  I  was  a  bit  of  wood 
or  flimsy  stage  scenery.  I  was  grateful  to  the  merciful 
fire  that  had  destroyed  me.  Half  an  hour  later  I  was 
on  my  way  to  Paris.  On  the  day  following  I  sent  you 
the  newspaper." 

He  looked  at  her  and  his  face  hardened. 

"  It  was  inconceivably  wrong  and  cruel,"  he  said. 

"  But  if  I  had  never  come  back  ?  " 

She  watched  his  face  with  a  certain  low  cunning 
that  he  shrank  from  perceptibly.  He  rose  and  began 
to  walk  up  and  down  the  room,  and  her  eyes  followed 
him.  Her  lips  were  smiling.  Suspicion  was  becoming 
verified. 

478 


THE   STOOP    OF   THE   SOUL 

"  I  need  never  have  come,"  she  remarked,  presently. 
"  He  left  me  quite  comfortable.  It  was  because  of  — 
of  the  feeling  I  told  you  of.  I  never  dreamed  that  I 
could  feel  like  that.  When  I  sent  you  the  paper  I  was 
quite  sure  of  myself.  But  when  I  came  out  of  the  long 
illness  I  had  I  was  changed.  Death  had  looked  me 
in  the  eyes,  and  I  knew  that  from  that  time  on  he 
would  be  close  at  my  side." 

All  at  once  she  looked  up  into  his  face  with  a  ghastly 
attempt  at  the  old  audacious  coquetry  that  had  once 
helped  to  ensnare  him,  the  words  making  a  shocking 
accompaniment  to  her  ill-timed  levity.  She  held  her 
head  lightly  to  one  side. 

"After  all  it  may  not  be  for  more  than  a  month  or 
two,  and  then  —  then  you  can  go  back  to  her  —  to 
Sibyl  Fontaine." 

He  came  and  stood  before  her,  and  something  in  his 
face  made  her  quail.  The  smile  on  her  lips  suddenly 
became  a  contortion.  She  put  up  her  hands  implor- 
ingly, growing  deathlike  in  her  grayness,  and  trembling 
violently.  It  had  been  only  a  random  shot,  but  she 
knew  that  it  had  hit  the  mark. 

"Have  you  decided?"  she  breathed  rather  than 
asked. 

"  I  have  decided,"  he  answered. 

"Then  you  are  going  to  renounce  me?" 

He  did  not  speak,  and  a  panic  seized  her  and  drove 
479 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

her  headlong.  She  stared  him  uncertainly  in  the  eyes 
for  an  instant,  and  all  at  once  she  flung  out  her  arms 
and  sank  on  her  knees  before  him.  The  cheap  melo- 
drama that  the  act  suggested  was  belied  by  the  abject 
terror  in  her  looks,  her  voice.  For  once  in  her  relation 
with  him  she  was  genuine.  Her  words  came  tearing 
upon  each  other  like  overleaping  flames,  hot  with  the 
haste  of  desperation. 

"I  am  ill,"  she  whispered,  huskily,  "dying  as  you 
can  see.  There  is  not  one  chance  in  a  hundred  for 
me.  All  the  physicians  say  that.  My  doom  has  been 
pronounced.  It  is  some  heart  trouble  that  is  incurable. 
Death  will  relieve  you  of  me  soon,  if  only  you  will  do 
the  thing  I  ask.  I  know  it  is  a  terrible  sacrifice  I  ask 
you  to  make.  But  oh,  for  God's  sake  try  to  make  it. 
I  —  I  cannot  die  in  any  sort  of  peace  unless  you  take 
me  back!  Oh,  Roger,  be  merciful.  I  don't  ask  you 
to  forgive  me,  because  I  don't  regret  anything.  I 
would  do  it  all  over  again.  I  loved  him.  I  love  him 
still.  But  I  want  you  to  take  me  back  —  to  take  me 
back  —  to  take  me  back  —  " 

Her  voice  trailed  away  in  an  agonized  wail,  and  she 
covered  her  face  in  her  hands.  A  deep  and  solemn 
stillness  reigned  in  the  room  as  if  beside  the  two,  the 
tall  man  and  the  prostrate  woman,  another  figure 
stbod,  mute,  noiseless,  yet  omnipotent.  The  sounds 
in  the  street  seemed  like  vague,  far-off  echoes  that 

480 


THE   STOOP   OF   THE   SOUL 

might  have  wandered  down  from  some  distant  planet, 
so  remote  were  they  from  the  intensity  of  that  moment, 
which  held  for  him  a  profoundly  ethical  meaning. 

For  a  moment  he  stood  looking  down  at  her,  not 
moving  a  muscle.  Presently  he  took  a  step  forward, 
and  as  he  did  so  his  features  became  less  tense,  and  in 
place  of  the  rigidity,  like  a  mask,  that  had  kept  his 
face  throughout  in  a  sort  of  frozen  calm,  because  of 
the  supreme  effort  he  was  making  at  self-control,  there 
came  the  light  of  a  wide  and  self-obliterating  com- 
passion, as  he  stooped  to  her. 

"  I  will  take  you  back,"  he  said,  very  gently,  and 
lifted  her  to  her  feet. 


481 


CHAPTER  XVI 

TIME'S  WHEEL 

ON  a  certain  gray  November  afternoon  Roger  came 
down  the  steps  of  one  of  those  narrow,  red  brick,  dis- 
tinctly urban  residences,  designed,  apparently,  as  a 
main  purpose,  for  the  destruction  of  individuality, 
which  one  sees  in  most  large  cities,  and  which,  in  this 
instance,  with  its  almost  boastful  air  of  modest  gen- 
tility, its  steep  stone  flight,  and  slender  iron  railing, 
formed  one  of  a  long  row  of  comfortable  but  entirely 
commonplace  dwellings  on  an  obscure  street  in  Cin- 
cinnati. 

Here  for  nearly  three  years  he  had  lived,  never  once 
setting  foot  on  Kentucky  soil,  and  only  in  his  dreams, 
like  some  shipwrecked  traveler  starved,  a-thirst,  and 
dying  nearly  in  sight  of  his  native  shore,  beholding  the 
lovely  land  with  that  deep,  unquenchable  yearning 
that  the  Kentuckian  everywhere  feels  for  his  state 
when  long  absent  from  it.  And  here,  with  the  shadow 
of  her  dark  and  terrible  past  and  his  own  most  tragic 
sorrow  ever  between  them,  together,  yet  infinitely 

482 


TIME'S   WHEEL 

apart,  once  more  he  and  Marian  had  attempted  their 
poor  semblance  of  a  home. 

The  arrangement  had  not  turned  out  the  temporary 
thing  she  had  predicted.  The  diagnosis  of  the  physi- 
cians she  had  consulted  abroad  proved  to  be  incorrect. 
Her  physical  condition  slowly,  but  surely,  had  im- 
proved, until  finally,  through  the  skill  of  the  best 
physicians  procurable  and  most  careful  nursing,  she 
was  almost  a  well  woman  again.  And  though  her 
beauty  never  quite  returned,  some  measure  of  the  rare 
good  looks  she  had  had  gradually  came  back  to  her, 
and  with  it  many  of  those  pronounced  traits  of  charac- 
ter that  on  the  surface  had  seemed  to  vanish  with  her 
bloom.  But  the  tigress  passion  in  her  had  been  only 
sleeping;  it  was  not  dead,  and  with  her  renewed  health 
it  awoke  and  clamored  for  its  prey. 

A  new  stimulus  to  existence  had  been  given  to  her 
in  the  discovery  that  Roger  was  no -longer  the  pauper 
he  was  when,  following  her  own  violent  inclination, 
she  had  left  him.  The  old  love  of  luxury,  for  the  soft, 
warm  places  of  life  and  for  beautiful,  costly  things, 
the  desire  for  social  success  which  had  always  been 
dominant  in  her  until  she  met  Waller  and  succumbed 
to  him,  now  that  she  had  lost  him,  again  took  hold  of 
her;  and  with  all  the  craftiness  which  she  had  dis- 
played in  striving  to  win  Roger,  and  with  the  same 
fleshly  allurement,  once  more  she  sought  to  be  the 

483 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

temptress,  and  to  throw  her  enchantment  over  him  so 
that,  Delilah  like,  she  might  rob  him  of  his  strength, 
and  thus  through  him  accomplish  what  she  would. 

But  her  efforts  had  met  with  a  resistance  so  stern 
and  chilling  that  even  she  had  drawn  back  unable  to 
endure  the  humiliation  of  his  repulse.  Adamant 
against  her  blandishment,  treating  her  always  with  a 
reserve  that  nothing  could  break  down,  he  was  yet 
unfailing  with  regard  to  everything  that  could  even  in 
the  smallest  way  minister  to  her  comfort;  and  his 
courtesy  and  kindness  toward  her  when  with  her 
never  faltered.  But  they  could  scarcely  have  been 
more  removed  from  each  other  if  thousands  of  leagues 
had  separated  them;  and  in  his  steadfast  attitude,  and 
in  her  own  gradual  recognition  of  the  fact  that  hence- 
forth she  was  to  be  a  wife  only  in  name,  a  sense  of 
shame  was  provoked  by  her  own  powerlessness  which 
at  first  flared  into  flame  and  then  sullenly  smouldered. 
Her  fierce  resentment,  which  at  the  outset  might  have 
been  placated  at  the  first  signs  of  yielding,  had  finally 
become  a  settled  ill-will  which  no  overture  on  his  part 
could  have  altered,  had  he  felt  disposed  to  make  it. 
•  The  profound  pity  which  she  knew  he  felt  for  her 
hurt  her  even  more  than  if  in  its  place  he  had  given 
her  only  scorn.  A  brother's  gentleness,  when  she 
wanted  a  lover's  caress;  protection  merely,  when  she 
longed  for  power;  obscurity,  when  her  whole  nature 

484 


TIME'S    WHEEL 

cried  out  for  the  visible  and  the  conspicuous  —  these 
were  the  things  he  had  given  her,  and  they  had  filled 
her  only  with  dissatisfaction,  because  they  were  the 
things  she  cared  little  for. 

To-day  there  had  come  a  climax  in  their  relation. 
She  had  been  thinking  of  Waller  and  of  the  wild  frenzy 
of  passion  he  had  aroused  in  her  which  she  still  called 
love.  She  was  particularly  miserable,  feeling  the  need 
of  excitement,  and  at  luncheon  she  had  brought  up  a 
subject,  half  tentatively,  but  with  a  recklessness  born 
of  desperation,  which  never  before  she  had  dared  to 
touch  upon.  She  suggested  that  they  should  return 
to  Lexington.  Roger's  face  suddenly  paled.  Then 
he  had  pushed  back  his  plate  and  risen  from  the  table, 
speaking  never  a  word.  And  a  sudden  flame  of  crim- 
son had  swept  to  her  brow,  and  a  moment  afterward, 
throwing  aside  all  restraint,  she  had  turned  upon  him 
with  hot,  indignant  words,  charging  him  with  neglect 
of  her,  and  bewailing  the  loneliness  and  wretchedness 
of  her  existence.  The  utter  baldness  and  vulgarity  of 
the  scene,  the  unexpected  outbreak,  her  defiant  dis- 
regard of  everything  relating  to  her  sinful  career, 
filled  him  with  dismay.  Hitherto  he  had  been  able  to 
keep  their  intercourse  upon  a  certain  dead  level  to 
which  his  own  courtliness  had  given  tone.  Now  he 
realized  that  a  line  had  been  crossed  that  would  mark 
the  beginning  of  a  painful  alteration  in  their  future 

485 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

association.  Presently  he  had  come  back  to  her  and 
sat  down  beside  her,  and  for  an  hour  or  more  he  had 
remained  with  her,  striving  in  his  thorough  high  breed- 
ing to  atone  for  the  stab  he  had  given,  yet  firm  against 
any  argument  in  favor  of  a  less  secluded  existence  for 
them  both. 

But  she  was  not  to  be  pacified,  and  the  recollection 
of  the  mingling  of  shame  and  wrath  and  stubbornness 
upon  the  once  beautiful  face  was  something  that  he 
took  with  him  as  he  went  down  the  steps  of  his  house 
and  started  toward  the  business  portion  of  the  town. 

It  was  late,  but  in  his  preoccupation  he  was  unheeding 
of  his  car  that  dashed  past  just  as  he  reached  the  side- 
walk. Once  before,  he  recalled,  she  had  hinted  her 
desire  for  acquaintance,  and  it  had  been  dimly  borne 
in  upon  him  that  she  wished  to  return  to  the  life  of  the 
world,  and  to  avail  herself  of  the  entree  into  society 
about  them  which  she  believed  his  high  position  might 
still  have  commanded  for  her,  had  he  not,  to  her 
extreme  annoyance,  thrown  off  every  attempt  at  socia- 
bility on  the  part  of  persons  he  had  met,  raising  about 
himself  a  barrier  that  few  had  the  hardihood  to  break 
down.  But  before  she  had  scarcely  more  than  touched 
upon  the  matter,  he  changed  the  subject  abruptly,  and 
since  then  she  had  lacked  the  courage  to  bring  it  up 
again. 

What  it  was  that  had  roused  her  to  the  indelicacy  of 
486 


TIME'S   WHEEL 

this  last  proposal  he  could  only  conjecture.  For  a 
number  of  weeks  past  he  had  been  compelled  to  take 
luncheon  down  town  until  to-day,  and  in  the  press  of 
business  he  had  not  been  able  to  give  up  more  than  a 
few  moments  every  evening  to  her.  He  had  taken  an 
office  in  Cincinnati,  and  through  the  instrumentality  of 
an  old  lawyer  friend  of  his  father's,  an  opportunity  of 
practicing  his  profession  under  conditions  peculiarly 
favorable  had  opened  up  to  him.  He  worked  almost 
incessantly,  the  same  undaunted,  trustful,  grappling 
spirit  of  his  earlier  years  coming  again  to  his  rescue, 
and  helping  him  to  endure  his  lot  as  it  had  helped  him 
before  in  the  midst  of  his  fiery  trials. 

He  had  reached  Fourth  Street  and  was  hurrying 
on  when  a  voice  spoke  at  his  elbow.  He  turned  and 
looked  into  the  face  of  Judith  Beverley.  She  had  just 
emerged  from  a  candy  shop  and  she  carried  two  large 
boxes  under  her  arm.  Something  of  the  discontent  he 
always  associated  with  Judith  had  vanished  from  her 
expression.  She  was  pleased  and  smiling,  and  she 
stood  before  him  in  her  long  brown  travelling  cloak 
and  quiet  hat  and  veil  with  a  certain  elegance  that 
made  him  think  of  Mrs.  Beverley,  as  he  for  the  first 
time  discerned  a  faint  likeness  between  the  short, 
compact  figure  of  the  girl  and  her  tall  and  stately 
mother. 

"  How  do  you  do  ? "  she  inquired,  heartily,  holding 
487 


out  her  hand.     "Do  you  always  run  over  the  people 
you  pass  on  the  streets  ?  " 

"Not  always,"  he  answered,  gravely,  but  smiling, 
"I  usually  spare  a  few." 

"  You  came  very  near  not  sparing  me,"  she  replied, 
bluntly.  Her  keen  eyes  searched  his  face,  and  he 
flinched  a  little  under  her  close  observation.  Through 
a  careful  avoidance  he  seldom  met  any  of  his  Kentucky 
friends  on  the  Cincinnati  streets,  though  he  knew  that 
they  were  to  be  seen  there  constantly.  In  the  almost 
three  years  that  had  passed  since  he  left  Lexington,  he 
had  not  once  come  upon  Judith.  All  at  once,  as  a 
result  of  her  scrutiny,  she  uttered  an  abrupt  exclama- 
tion. 

"  What  on  earth  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  "  she  asked, 
quickly.  "  Have  you  had  an  illness  ?  " 

He  looked  away.     "No,  I  have  not  been  ill." 

But  Judith  kept  up  her  investigation.  Presently  she 
drew  a  long,  slow  breath,  and  shook  her  head. 

"Well,  you  certainly  look  it,"  she  exclaimed,  tact- 
lessly, and  still  unconvinced.  "  If  mama  could  see  you 
I  am  sure  she  would  prescribe  at  once.  You  know 
she  is  always  doing  that,  to  my  father's  great  disgust. 
Did  she  ever  make  you  poke  out  your  tongue  ?  " 

He  laughed.     "I  don't  think  she  ever  did." 

"Nor  tell  you  to  keep  quiet  while  she  counted  your 
pulse?" 

488 


TIME'S    WHEEL 

"I  begin  to  think  that  I  was  sadly  neglected.  Is  it 
a  special  mark  of  favor?" 

Judith's  shoulders  went  up  in  the  old,  familiar  shrug. 

"Oh,  no;  she  dispenses  such  attentions  alike  upon 
the  just  and  the  unjust,  and  I  once  saw  her  tenderly 
pressing  the  wrist  of  a  complete  stranger  in  a  street 
car  —  a  blear-eyed  old  man  afflicted  with  rheumatism. 
You  know  she  has  almost  as  many  remedies  for  human 
ills  written  out  in  that  wonderful  old  book  of  hers  as 
she  has  receipts  for  good  things.  Papa  confided  in  me 
in  a  desperate  moment  and  said  she  was  a  perfect 
quack.  But  where  were  you  going  in  such  haste  ?  " 

"  To  my  office." 

"  Is  anybody  waiting  for  you  ?  " 

"I  —  don't  know.     Possibly." 

"Would  you  have  time  to  walk  to  the  station  with 
me  and  carry  these  things  ?  They  are  so  heavy." 

She  glanced  down  at  her  boxes  of  candy  and  he 
quickly  relieved  her  of  them. 

"The  children,  as  we  call  them  still,  would  never 
forgive  me  if  I  came  back  without  an  extra  large 
supply.  This  is  to  be  my  last  trip,"  she  said  as  they 
moved  on. 

"Have  you  been  here  often  recently?"  he  asked, 
regretting  the  opening  of  the  sluice-gates  of  memory 
through  the  enforced  conversation,  but  at  the  same 
time  eager  like  a  hungry  dog  for  the  veriest  crumb  of 

489 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

information  she  might  let  fall  in  relation  to  every  one 
connected  with  the  old  life  that  now  seemed  daily 
receding  further  and  further  from  him.  Not  once  had 
he  heard  directly  or  indirectly  from  Sibyl.  Where  the 
years  had  been  spent,  and  how,  he  knew  not  —  always 
silence,  dead  and  pall-like  and  impenetrable  silence, 
surrounded  her;  so  that  at  times  a  madness  of  longing 
would  possess  him  to  pierce  the  weight  of  blackness 
that  shut  her  out  from  him  and  coffined  her  loveliness. 
Something  in  Judith's  manner  revealed  to  him  that 
she  had  a  communication  of  some  sort  to  make  to 
him,  and  his  heart  was  giving  such  a  succession  of 
wild,  rapid,  expectant  beats  as  made  it  difficult  for 
him  to  talk  to  her. 

"  Have  you  been  here  often  recently  ? "  he  repeated, 
keeping  closely  to  the  subject  of  herself  from  sheer 
inability  to  touch  upon  anything  that  might  lead  up  to 
the  one  question  his  whole  being  ached  to  ask,  yet 
could  not. 

Judith  grew  debonair.  She  darted  a  quick,  side- 
long glance  at  him,  and  then  dropped  her  eyes.  "  Oh, 
quite  —  quite  often." 

"  Is  it  for  business  or  pleasure  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Both." 

•• 

He  looked  puzzled. 

Her  figure  stiffened  slightly,  and  she  held  her  chin 
with  a  sudden  haughtiness.  The  truth  was  she  had 

490 


TIME'S    WHEEL 

found  it  by  no  means  an  easy  matter  to  forgive  Roger 
even  after  all  the  years,  for  not  falling  in  love  with 
her,  and  she  felt  that  the  moment,  small  as  was  its 
triumph,  would  in  a  measure  reinstate  her  in  a  lost 
dignity. 

"  I  have  been  here  every  Saturday  for  the  past  three 
weeks,"  she  said;  "I  am  getting  my  trousseau.  It  is  to 
be  a  lovely  one." 

Roger  turned  quickly,  with  kindly  interest. 

"  So  you  are  going  to  be  married !  Who  is  the  lucky 
fellow,  may  I  ask  ?  " 

Judith's  dignity  increased. 

"  Mr.  Morrison,"  she  said,  with  the  calm  satisfaction 
of  one  who  has  waited  long,  and  suffered  much,  and 
attained  at  last;  the  various  gradations,  however,  by 
which  a  young  woman  who  has  aimed  high  and  slowly 
descended  in  her  matrimonial  ambitions  until  a  modest 
little  home  and  a  very  commonplace  little  man,  the 
latter  being  thrown  in  merely,  as  it  were,  seem  desirable, 
being  all  expressed  in  her  mention  of  the  name  of  her 
future  husband. 

He  checked  an  involuntary  expression  of  surprise, 
but  she  caught  the  amused,  wondering  look  in  his  eyes. 

"Oh,  no  doubt  you  are  remembering  that  I  called 
him  a  chump,"  she  said,  with  a  little  nervous  laugh, 
"that  evening  at  Sibyl's  cotillion  long,  long  ago. 
Doesn't  it  seem  an  eternity  ?  I  didn't  know  him  at  all 

491 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

then;  and  his  nose  was  certainly  much  too  big.  It  is 
still.  But  I  like  him  all  the  same,  and  I  am  going  to 
marry  him  the  week  before  Christmas." 

Roger  did  not  answer.  That  one  mention  of  Sibyl 
had  struck  him  dumb,  and  he  could  say  nothing. 

"  Don't  you  remember  that  I  called  him  a  chump  ?  " 
persisted  Judith,  still  laughing,  and  looking  up  at  him 
with  that  curious  combination  of  brusqueness  and 
coquetry  which  gave  her  a  certain  uniqueness  of  her 
own.  "Don't  you  remember?  You  were  sitting  by 
mama  and  me  at  the  favor  table.  Sibyl  — 

"I  remember,"  he  cut  in,  rapidly.  "But  I  under- 
stand now  that  chump  was  only  hyperbole  for  charm- 
ing." 

They  had  reached  the  station,  and  they  went  at 
once  down  below,  where  a  crowd  awaited  the  calling 
out  of  the  several  trains. 

"Oh,  I  do  believe  I'm  late,"  cried  Judith,  looking 
around. 

He  took  out  his  watch.  "You  have  three  minutes 
yet,  long  enough  for  me  to  tell  you  how  sincerely  I 
hope  you  will  be  happy." 

People  were  surging  through  the  gates.  A  stentorian 
voice  was  calling  out  unintelligible  things  in  his  ears. 
A  sense  of  utter  forlornness  was  stealing  over  him,  a 
wild  eagerness  to  learn  something  —  anything  —  be- 
fore she  should  leave  him. 

492 


TIME'S   WHEEL 

"Thank  you,"  replied  Judith,  rather  stiffly  again. 
I  am  —  very  happy.  Good-by." 

She  put  out  her  hand,  and  with  a  little  nod  and  smile 
took  her  boxes  of  candy  and  turned  toward  the  gate, 
where  a  grumpy  figure  in  a  slouch  hat  was  motioning 
with  a  jerk  of  the  thumb  to  an  uncertain  traveler 
toward  the  train  on  the  far  track. 

She  looked  up  at  him  again.  A  gleam  half  of  mis- 
chief, hah*  of  malice,  shot  into  her  eyes. 

"Weddings  seem  to  be  taking  place  everywhere 
these  days,"  she  said,  laughing,  with  a  sudden  air  of 
mystery.  "Have  you  heard  about  Sibyl  Fontaine's? 
But  I  really  must  go." 

He  paled,  and  with  his  gaze  still  upon  her  she 
stood  smiling  back  at  him  over  her  shoulder,  while 
the  man  at  the  gate  fumbled  with  her  ticket.  Then 
she  passed  on  through.  But  once  on  the  outside 
she  looked  toward  him  again,  and  all  at  once, 
still  laughing  immoderately,  she  darted  back  to 
the  iron  railing  where  he  stood,  and  once  more 
her  voice,  half  teasing,  half  mocking,  and  wholly 
torturing  sounded  in  his  ears.  She  pursed  up  her 
lips,  and  held  her  head  on  side.  Her  eyes  were 
dancing. 

"Sibyl  Fontaine  was  married  to  a  foreigner  with  a 
title  and  a  most  unpronounceable  name,  yesterday,  in 
New  York!"  she  whispered,  and  was  gone. 

493 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

It  was  after  seven  of  the  same  evening  before  Roger 
returned  to  the  unhappy  dwelling-place  he  called  his 
home.  He  had  been  tramping  the  streets  for  hours, 
unconscious  of  everything  about  him,  even  the  slow 
sinking  of  the  twilight  into  darkness,  so  symbolic  of 
the  despair  that  had  come  to  take  the  place  of  that 
dear  glimmering  of  hope  of  a  far-off  day  of  blessed- 
ness, which,  in  defiance  of  all  circumstances,  had  sus- 
tained him  throughout  the  difficult  years;  and  it  was 
with  a  sense  of  utter  defeat,  a  numbness  which  left 
him  powerless  to  confront,  to  battle,  to  reason,  that  he 
went  up  the  steps  of  the  house  and  on  into  the  narrow 
hall-way.  Under  this  last  blinding  gust,  the  severest, 
the  surest,  the  very  roots  of  his  nature  had  been  up- 
torn,  and  lay  bare  and  quivering  in  the  storm  that  had 
felled  him. 

The  lower  floor  was  lighted,  but  in  Marian's  bed- 
room above  there  was  absolute  blackness,  and  he  con- 
cluded that  she  had  dressed  for  dinner  and  was  waiting 
somewhere  down  below.  He  went  on  up  to  his  own 
room,  hurriedly  made  his  preparations,  and  returned. 
As  he  came  down  the  stairs  a  servant  passed  through 
the  hall,  and  Roger  inquired  for  her.  She  was  not 
feeling  well  the  maid  informed  him,  and  had  given 
directions  just  after  he  left  that  she  was  not  under  any 
conditions  to  be  disturbed.  Something  made  him 
turn  and  retrace  his  steps. 

494 


TIME'S   WHEEL 

He  stood  a  moment  on  the  landing,  deliberating. 
Not  once  had  he  entered  that  room;  yet  with  his  re- 
luctance to  do  so  now  there  came  another  feeling  —  a 
strange,  incomprehensible  suspicion  that  made  his 
heart  stand  still,  and  caused  him  to  hesitate  to  send  a 
servant  to  her. 

He  knocked  softly  on  her  door.  There  was  no 
answer.  He  knocked  again,  this  time  louder.  There 
was  only  silence.  He  turned  the  knob  and  entered. 
An  inky  darkness  reigned  in  the  room,  and  he  stumbled 
over  a  chair  in  his  effort  to  find  the  electric  light.  But 
if  she  were  there  she  took  no  notice  of  the  noise  he 
was  making.  He  called  to  her  as  he  groped  his  way 
about  the  room.  There  came  no  reply.  At  length 
he  found  a  match  on  a  little  silver  candlestick  and 
struck  it,  discovering  the  electric  chandelier  in  the 
same  instant.  He  quickly  turned  on  £  light  and 
looked  about  him. 

The  bed-chamber  appeared  to  be  deserted,  the  rose- 
colored  silken  coverlet  on  the  bed  being  heaped  up  in 
such  a  way  as  to  give  the  impression  of  having  been 
hastily  thrust  aside  by  some  one  who  had  but  recently 
been  lying  beneath  it.  Yet  he  did  not  believe  the 
room  to  be  empty.  He  stood  perfectly  still,  a  cold 
perspiration  gathering  on  his  brow. 

A  peculiar  sensation  was  beginning  to  steal  over 
him,  a  dizziness  of  the  brain. 

495 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

All  at  once  he  pulled  himself  together  and  crossed 
the  room  to  the  bedside. 

"  Marian,"  he  said  in  a  firm,  distinct  tone,  "  Marian ! " 

The  spread  was  drawn  up  about  her  shoulders, 
but  the  outline  of  her  form  was  plainly  visible  to  him 
now,  and  also  her  loose  coil  of  red-brown  hair  against 
the  lace  of  her  soft  silk  dressing-gown.  With  that 
strange  accuracy  with  which  detail  impresses  itself 
upon  one  in  such  moments  he  noticed  that  the  gown 
was  pale  blue.  On  the  table  by  her  side  there  was  a 
tiny  box,  and  near  it  a  glass  of  water.  He  did  not 
touch  the  box,  but  suddenly  with  a  deepening  sus- 
picion he  drew  back  the  coverlet  and  looked  at  her. 

A  low  cry  of  horror  broke  from  him.  She  was  lying  on 
one  side,  her  head  pressed  down  against  the  pillow,  one 
hand  tightly  grasping  a  little  jeweled  locket  out  of  which 
a  man's  face  looked  —  the  face  of  Francis  Waller. 

Transfixed  he  stood  staring  at  her,  comprehending 
in  one  vivid  flash  of  realization  the  terrible  meaning 
of  her  aspect,  and  of  this  shameless,  almost  defiant 
avowal  of  something  that,  hitherto,  she  had  guarded 
from  him  as  a  tigress  guards  her  young;  so  that  of  all 
men  Waller  was  the  last  whom  he  would  ever  have 
found  it  possible  to  suspect.  He  reached  down  and 
touched  her  hand.  It  was  rigid  and  cold  in  death. 
Then  he  quickly  turned  to  the  tiny  box  on  the  table. 

It  was  labeled  Morphine. 
496 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  APRIL'S  IN  HER  EYES 

ONE  night  a  month  later  Roger  returned  to  Lexing- 
ton. 

It  was  Christmas  Eve,  such  a  Christmas  Eve  as 
had  been  the  delight  of  his  boyhood,  with  a  keen, 
strong  wind  asweep,  a  fall  of  snow  three  feet  deep, 
and  a  temperature  sufficiently  below  the  freezing 
point  to  give  promise  of  excellent  skating  on  the  mor- 
row. How  he  had  loved  to  skate!  That  delicious 
bracing  and  balancing  of  oneself  in  the  biting,  wintry 
air,  that  splendid  sense  of  health  and  ease  and  good- 
humor,  that  supreme  confidence  in  one's  own  powers 
of  skill  and  of  endurance  that  used  to  set  his  blood 
a-tingling  with  something  of  the  rapture  that  the  eagle 
feels  as  he  spreads  his  wings  and  soars  —  what  it  had 
all  meant  to  him!  So  much  more,  it  seemed  now  on 
looking  back  to  it,  than  the  mere  amusement  alone. 
For  it  had  implied  the  exhilaration  of  resistance,  of 
exertion,  of  the  capacity  of  throwing  one's  whole  being 
into  the  thing  that  absorbs  one  and  drawing  from  it 

497 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

the  last  atom  of  enjoyment  it  contains,  just  as  later  on 
he  was  destined  to  throw  his  whole  soul  into  his  work, 
and  to  draw  from  it  the  inspiration  that  makes  for  a 
higher  ideal  of  life. 

The  lawn  in  front  of  the  old  Hart  residence  was  a 
white  and  glittering  expanse  beneath  the  newly-risen 
moon,  and  unbroken  save  for  a  series  of  footprints, 
supplemented  here  and  there  by  the  irregular  tracks 
of  a  dog,  leading  from  the  smaller  of  the  two  gateways 
along  the  narrow  path  that  wound  under  the  ghostly 
trees  up  to  the  deserted  house.  Evidently  Uncle  Lish 
and  his  favorite  among  the  setters  were  the  sole  itiner-. 
ants  that  had  gone  that  way  all  day;  and  in  contrast 
with  the  distant  sounds  of  merrymaking  going  on  in 
the  heart  of  the  town,  where,  amid  the  blare  of  tin 
horns,  crowds  of  loafers  and  little  street  urchins  were 
shrieking  their  delight  in  bonfires  and  sky-rockets  and 
Roman  candles,  the  solemn  stillness  that  brooded 
over  the  spot  produced  an  impression  not  unlike  that 
awakened  by  the  sight  of  a  churchyard  in  the  midst 
of  a  noisy  city  square.  The  two  old  negroes  left  in 
charge  of  the  place  as  caretakers  scarcely  gave  to  it 
the  look  of  being  inhabited,  and  but  for  a  little  thin 
trail  of  smoke  that  presently  Roger  discerned  ascend- 
ing from  the  extreme  rear  portion  of  the  building  he 
might  have  even  doubted  their  faithfulness. 

He  had  sent  no  word  to  tell  them  to  expect  him,  and 
498 


THE   APRIL'S    IN   HER   EYES 

it  was  with  a  sense  of  utter  loneliness  and  desolation 
that  he  stood  a  moment  on  the  outside  of  the  gate  and 
delayed  to  lift  the  latch.  The  difference  between  this 
home-coming  and  the  one  he  had  dreamed  of,  glorified 
by  the  welcome  of  the  woman  he  loved!  He  had 
pictured  it  all  to  himself  so  many  times,  and  last  night 
he  had  heard  almost  as  an  actuality  the  low  sweet 
sound  of  her  laughter,  as  he  beheld  her  standing  beside 
him,  so  that  he  awoke  to  the  stark  misery  of  his  loss, 
feeling  as  if  he  had  one  instant  entered  paradise  only 
the  next  to  be  thrust  down  to  hell.  How  he  had  loved 
her  —  loved  her  still !  The  bitter  blame  that  a  man 
might  have  had  under  such  conditions  had  not  come 
to  poison  his  devotion.  He  did  not  question  —  he  did 
not  even  try  to  understand.  He  had  made  no  further 
inquiry  of  any  one;  for  as  yet  his  wound  was  too 
new  and  too  deep  to  bear  a  careless  handling,  and 
the  restraint  that  he  had  been  compelled  to  put 
upon  himself  that  afternoon  with  Judith  Beverley, 
when  hoping  to  obtain  some  sort  of  information  from 
her,  was  an  agony  that  there  seemed  no  need  to 
make  a  repetition  of,  in  view  of  the  simple,  crushing 
fact.  He  had  lost  her!  How  or  why  —  what  mat- 
tered it?  Some  day  when  his  mind  had  recovered 
a  little  from  that  last  staggering  blow,  and  from 
the  tragedy  of  Marian's  death  following  hard  upon 
it,  some  day,  perhaps,  he  would  wish  to  know 

499 


THE    INVISIBLE    BOND 

everything  that  now  he  shrank  from.  But  not  yet, 
not  yet. 

As  he  turned  into  the  yard,  for  the  first  time  he 
looked  in  the  direction  of  the  judge's  home.  He  had 
been  keeping  his  eyes  resolutely  away,  but  a  sense  of 
kinship  with  his  friend  through  a  common  loneliness 
made  him  think  of  him  with  peculiar  sympathy  on  this 
night  when  of  all  others  the  heart  cries  out  for  human 
contact,  the  hand  clasp  with  its  kind,  so  that  one  may 
be  a  part  of  that  circle  formed  by  the  Christ  idea  which 
makes  for  the  solidarity  of  humanity.  To-night  in  his 
isolation  he  felt  outside  the  circle. 

All  at  once  he  gave  a  start  of  surprise.  The  house 
presented  a  very  different  aspect  from  what  he  had 
expected.  Instead  of  the  dark  and  solitary  abode  he 
had  thought  to  see,  with  only  the  student's  lamp  in  the 
library  and  a  single  burner  in  the  front  hall,  he  beheld 
a  Christmas  cheerfulness  that  gleamed  from  every 
window,  and  shone  softly  across  the  snow,  as  if  the 
festival  were  being  kept  with  a  special  emphasis  within. 
For  an  instant  his  heart  stood  still.  In  all  his  torturing 
imaginings  it  had  not  once  occurred  to  him  that  Sibyl 
might  be  in  Kentucky.  He  had  thought  of  her  as 
far,  far  away,  always.  That  she  was  here,  as  seemed 
more  than  probable,  within  a  few  yards  of  him,  here, 
where  they  had  loved  each  other  so  profoundly  and  so 
despairingly,  here  with  the  man  who  was  now  her 

500 


THE   APRIL'S    IN    HER   EYES 

husband,  was  a  realization  that  had  come  upon  him  so 
suddenly  as  completely  to  unnerve  him,  and  he  stood 
trembling  as  in  an  ague,  and  unable  to  go  on. 

He  scarcely  knew  how  long  he  stood  there,  but  after 
a  while  he  found  himself  moving  quickly  forward, 
regardless  of  the  vague  outline  of  a  path  made  by 
Uncle  Lish's  clumsy  shoes  and  the  light  prints  of  the 
dog,  and  aiming  with  a  sort  of  desperation  for  his  own 
doorway.  Though  he  kept  his  gaze  on  the  ground  he 
could  still  see  that  brightly  lighted  building,  and  his 
eyeballs  burned  as  from  a  painful  glare.  The  front 
steps  were  banked  with  snow,  but  he  strode  up  them, 
and  with  an  odd  sense  of  repetition,  yet  of  strangeness, 
reached  down  in  his  pocket  for  the  latchkey,  and 
opened  the  door. 

He  moved  a  step  or  two  into  the  hall,  but  he  forbore 
to  turn  on  a  light,  some  instinct  newly  aroused  in  him 
making  the  heavy  gloom  that  pervaded  the  place 
preferable  in  that  moment;  and  recalling  the  position 
of  the  furniture,  he  slowly  groped  his  way  along  the 
wall  and  reached  the  doorway  at  the  far  end  that  led 
out  upon  the  porch.  It  was  locked,  but  on  the  inside, 
and  with  the  dimly  unpleasant  consciousness  that  he 
was  prowling  like  a  burglar  about  his  own  premises  at 
the  risk  of  frightening  his  old  servants  out  of  their  wits, 
he  went  down  the  steps  of  the  porch  and  made  his 
way  toward  the  kitchen  in  the  ell. 

501 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

There  was  a  little  strip  of  dotted  muslin  at  the  window 
neatly  tied  to  one  side,  and  within,  sitting  beside  a 
table  in  a  long  white  apron  and  carefully  stirring  some- 
thing in  a  huge  bowl  which  she  held  in  her  lap,  he  saw 
the  comfortable  form  and  bland  countenance  of  Aunt 
Daphne,  her  smooth,  round  face  shining  like  polished 
ebony  in  the  glare  of  the  electric  light.  She  was  singing 
hi  a  disjointed,  preoccupied  fashion  one  of  the  weird 
plantation  melodies  of  her  youth,  and  as  the  sound 
floated  out  to  him  Roger  listened  in  spite  of  his  own 
wretchedness,  wondering  how  anything  so  unutterably 
plaintive  and  heart-broken  could  be  expressive  of  the 
sunny  contentment  that  rested  upon  the  old  woman's 
features.  But  experience  had  taught  him  that  Aunt 
Daphne  was  always  at  her  happiest  when  she  sang 
that  song,  and  that  she  was  harking  backward  to  a 
time  that  she  never  grew  weary  of  telling  of  —  the  time 
when  the  colonel  was  young  and  life  on  the  great 
country  place  was  an  unbroken  round  of  feasting  and 
gaiety,  presided  over  by  the  stateliness  of  "  Ole  Marster  " 
and  "  Ole  Miss,"  whose  gracious  elegance  she  sought 
to  make  alive  again  by  means  of  the  quaint  bows 
and  curtsies  with  which  she  undertook  to  describe 
them. 

Presently  Roger  moved  toward  the  door  and  tried 
to  turn  the  knob.  The  door  was  locked,  and  he 
knocked  softly.  There  was  an  abrupt  pause  within 
502 


THE   APRIL'S    IN    HER   EYES 

and  a  stillness  as  of  one  listening.  Then  the  stirring 
began  again  and  with  it  a  low  muttering. 

"Ef  airy  one  of  dem  low-lifted  tramps  comes  a- 
knockin'  at  dat  doo'  I  knows  what  I  gwine  do  to  'em 
—  I  knows,"  said  the  voice  with  a  chuckle.  "  De 
water  in  dat  tea-kittle  bilin'  hot.  Hit  sho  ain'  good 
foh  de  health  of  tramps,  but  I  ain'  gwine  stan'  no 
foolin'  ef  hit  is  Christmas  Eve." 

"  Won't  you  let  me  in,  Aunt  Daphne  ?  "  called  Roger, 
meekly;  "I  am  not  a  tramp." 

There  was  a  smothered  ejaculation,  and  the  bowl 
was  quickly  deposited  on  the  table.  Then  there  was 
a  ponderous  movement  across  the  room  and  the  door 
was  flung  open. 

"Bless  Gawd,  ef  thar  ain'  Miss  Sophie's  chile  out 
thar  in  de  snow,  an'  I  done  took  him  foh  one  of  dese 
yere  low-down  critters  what  goes  'roun'  beggin'  a  meal 
o'  victuals  caze  dey  too  lazy  to  wuk ! " 

As  Roger  entered  the  kitchen  she  stood  with  her 
hands  folded  at  her  waist,  making  a  series  of  curious 
little  dips  before  him  intended  to  convey  her  most 
humble  apologies. 

"Honey,"  she  said,  "I  reckon  you'll  have  to  'cuse 
me  dis  time.  I  ain'  nuver  had  no  use  foh  de  poo' 
white  trash.  De  cun'l  he  lak  'em  better'n  he  did  de 
half-strainers,  an'  I  is  seen  him  lif'  he  hat  an'  step 
aside  foh  a  ole  woman  wid  a  shawl  on  an'  a  baskit, 

503 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

same  ez  she  wuz  a  queen.  Hit's  de  way  wid  de  quality; 
but  dey  too  onery  fob  me,  an'  de  tramps  is  comin' 
heah  all  de  time." 

She  pushed  a  chair  for  him  up  in  front  of  the  stove 
and  then  began  vigorously  to  throw  on  more  coal. 

"Is  you  most  froze?"  she  inquired,  anxiously. 
**Huccome  you  come  back  lak  dis,  'thout  sendin' 
word  to  me  an*  Lish?"  Then  before  Roger  could 
answer  she  gave  a  quick,  peering  glance  into  his 
face. 

"  Gawd ! "  she  cried,  "  ef  you  don'  look  lak  you  been 
daid  an'  buried  an'  den  dug  up."  But  she  said  no 
more.  That  he  would  not  wish  to  touch  upon  his  life 
with  his  wife  and  her  death,  she  seemed  to  realize  by 
means  of  a  fine  intuition. 

Roger  looked  away,  his  eyes  taking  in  the  appoint- 
ments of  the  well-ordered  kitchen,  the  polished  range, 
the  glittering  array  of  pans  on  the  wall,  and  the  familiar 
system  and  neatness  and  coziness  of  it  all,  and  presently 
his  glance  returned  to  the  old  woman  still  standing 
respectfully  by  his  side. 

"I  have  not  been  ill;  don't  bother  about  me,  Aunt 
Daphne,"  he  said,  "and  go  on  with  what  you  were 
doing.  I  will  sit  here  by  your  fire  and  talk  to  you  for 
a  while.  How  have  you  been,  and  how  is  Uncle  Lish  ?  " 

The  old  woman  took  a  cake  mold  down  from  the  wall, 
washed  and  wiped  it,  and  began  to  pour  into  it  the 

504 


THE   APRIL'S    IN   HER   EYES 

contents  of  the  earthen  bowl.  She  threw  him  a  playful 
glance  over  her  shoulder. 

"  Seem  lak  I  git  peerter  an'  spryer  all  de  time,"  she 
observed,  "but  Lish,  he  is  poo'ly,  thank  Gawd.  He 
all  crippled  up  wid  rheumatiz." 

"Where  is  he?"  asked  Roger,  understanding  thor- 
oughly that  the  apparent  heartlessness  existed  only  in 
manner  and  in  words. 

"  He  up  sta'hs  hi  baid,  soun'  a-sleep,  I  specs,  by  dis 
time.  I  gwine  sit  up  all  night  wid  dis  black  cake. 
I  is  made  sixteen,  black  an'  yalleh,  an'  I  done  sole  'em 
all.  Dis  las'  one  ain'  foh  sale.  Hit's  a  Christmas 
gif  foh  Miss  Sibyl.  Miss  Sibyl  moghty  good  to  me, 
an'  I  is  makin'  dis  cake  foh  her,  an'  I  gwine  tek  it 
over  to  her  to-morreh,  an'  I  gwine  ketch  her  Christmas 
gif  fo'  she  knows  it.  UU-MW  /  Ain'  she  sweet  an' 
pretty !  Dey  is  havin'  a  party  over  thar  to-night  — 
leastways  her  pa  is,  an'  Miss  Sibyl  come  in  an'  shuk 
han's  wid  all  de  gemmen,  an'  she  talk  a  lil  while,  an' 
den  she  come  out,  trailin'  her  skirts  an'  laughin'. 
She  got  on  a  light  blue  silk  an'  a  rose  in  her  hyah." 

"  When  —  when  did  she  come  back  ?  "  asked  Roger, 
unsteadily. 

The  old  negress  turned  a  blank  countenance  upon 
him. 

"  Whar  she  been  ?  "  she  demanded  in  surprise. 

"I  was  told  that  she  had  been  to  New  York," 
505 


THE   INVISIBLE   BOND 

he  replied,  the  room  suddenly  whirling  before  his 
eyes. 

Aunt  Daphne  shook  her  head. 

"She  ain'  been  to  no  New  York,"  she  declared, 
positively. 

Roger  was  unable  to  speak  for  a  moment,  and  the 
old  woman,  noting  his  pallor,  said,  suddenly: 

"Honey,  is  you  hongry?  Lemme  make  you  a 
cup  of  tea,  an'  bring  you  some  victuals  outen  de 
pantry." 

"I  had  something  down  town,  Aunt  Daphne;  I 
don't  want  anything  more.  Tell  me  about  —  the 
judge.  How  is  he?" 

"  De  jedge  right  smart.  Miss  Sibyl  all  de  time  takin' 
keer  of  him.  She  ain'  lef  him  oncet  sence  you  been 
away.  I  say,  'Honey,  how  de  Jedge  gwine  do  whin 
you  git  mahied  ? '  And  she  say,  '  Aunt  Daphne,  I  ain' 
nuver  gwine  git  mahied;  I  jes  gwine  be  ole  maid. 
Don'  you  think  I'll  make  a  nice  old  maid  ? '  An'  den 
she  laugh  an'  look  sweeter'n  a  peach,  an'  say,  '  Maybe 
I  won'  be  a  ole  maid ;  maybe  de  fairy  prince  come  arter 
me  wid  de  love-light  in  he  eyes,  an'  den,  whin  he  comes, 
he'll  know  I  is  been  a-waitin'  an'  a-waitin',  caze  I  don' 
wan'  nobody  but  him.' " 

Roger  had  suddenly  risen.  A  mist  had  gathered 
before  his  eyes,  and  he  rested  one  trembling  hand  on 
the  back  of  his  chair  to  steady  himself.  His  heart  was 

506 


THE   APRIL'S    IN   HER   EYES 

beating  tumultuously,  but  with  a  great  effort  he  con- 
trolled his  voice  and  spoke. 

"  Aunt  Daphne,"  he  said,  quickly,  "  do  you  think  it 
would  be  possible  for  you  to  speak  to  her  for  a  mo- 
ment?" 

"  In  course  I  kiri  speak  to  her." 

"  Will  you  get  her  cloak  and  overshoes,  and  then  tell 
her  that  I  am  waiting  by  the  bench  in  the  garden  ?  " 

The  old  negress  threw  back  her  head,  and  broke  into 
a  laugh  that  revealed  nearly  all  of  her  white,  strong 
teeth,  as  she  snatched  up  a  heavy  gray  shawl  from  a 
hook  in  the  corner.  A  twinkle  of  understanding  shone 
for  an  instant  in  her  eyes,  flickered,  and  fled,  as  with 
a  certain  wily  diplomacy  that  showed  her  quite  capable 
of  managing  the  situation  without  appearing  to  suspect 
its  import,  she  remarked,  blandly: 

"  I  gwine  fetch  her,  caze  hit's  time  she  gittin'  a  bre'f 
of  fresh  a'r."  And  then,  as  quietly  as  if  the  command 
he  had  given  were  quite  the  most  natural  thing  in  the 
world,  she  threw  the  shawl  over  her  head,  and  slipped 
out  into  the  night. 

The  old  garden  lay  sleeping  under  the  calm  splen- 
dor of  the  full-orbed  moon,  tucked  beneath  a  fleecy 
coverlet  a-gleam  with  iridescent  stars  and  overhung 
by  delicate  draperies  that  softly  clung  about  tree  and 
bush  and  flower.  The  snow  had  been  shoveled  from 

507 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

the  little  path  that  led  toward  the  bench  that  held  for 
Roger  such  intimate  and  thrilling  associations;  and  it 
was  with  a  sudden  leap  of  the  heart  that  he  noted  the 
circumstances  and  wondered  if  the  place  had  not 
become  to  her  after  he  had  left  her  a  short  of  shrine 
where,  though  striving  never  to  lose  sight  of  the  fact 
that  they  were  separated  from  each  other  in  the  flesh 
by  vows  which  were  restraining,  the  spiritual  part  of 
her  had  gone  out  in  perfect  communion  with  the 
spiritual  part  of  himself  that  had  never  been  wedded, 
and  felt  itself  mated  without  sin  to  his  soul.  For  his 
masculine  vision  had  enlarged.  And  added  to  the 
full  comprehension  of  the  meaning  of  the  duality  of 
human  existence,  the  union  of  the  man  and  the  woman 
in  the  complete  sanctity  of  a  healthful  humanness 
and  a  sound  spirituality,  which  had  come  to  him 
through  experience,  there  had  broken  upon  him  also 
the  realization  of  the  awful  isolation  that  a  man's 
being  may  discover  in  the  human  relation  based  merely 
upon  sense,  and  of  the  exquisite  oneness  which  is  at- 
tained when  all  the  parts  of  his  nature  are  answered  to. 
The  stillness  of  a  sanctuary  was  all  about  him,  a 
sanctuary  lit  by  moonbeams  and  soft  reflected  light, 
that  seemed  but  a  symbol  of  the  Eternal  Purity.  Only 
once  there  was  a  sound  in  the  distance,  and  Roger 
turned  eagerly.  The  glass  door  at  the  end  of  the  hall 
had  opened,  and  old  Daphne,  looking  neither  to  right 

508 


THE   APRIL'S    IN   HER   EYES 

nor  to  left,  came  down  the  steps  and  disappeared  a 
moment  afterward,  passing  through  the  little  gateway 
and  on  into  her  own  precincts. 

He  began  to  pace  up  and  down  the  path.  How  the 
moments  dragged!  From  time  to  time  he  paused 
and  would  glance  appealingly  hi  the  direction  of  the 
brightly  lighted  building,  which,  such  a  little  while 
before,  had  filled  him  with  so  blinding  a  sense  of  pain. 
The  reaction  had  come  so  quickly  and  so  unexpectedly 
that  his  brain  was  still  reeling  as  under  an  intoxication. 
He  was  unconscious  of  the  cold,  for  his  heart  was  glow- 
ing with  the  fire  of  love,  and  every  wild  beat  was  only 
bringing  her  nearer  and  nearer. 

He  walked  over  to  the  bench  and  stood  looking  down 
upon  it,  hearing  again  the  sigh  of  the  summer  wind 
in  the  branches  overhead,  thrilling  again  under  the 
sound  of  her  voice,  and  realizing  every  h'ttle  detail 
of  the  picture  that  had  forever  stamped  itself  upon  his 
memory  in  relation  to  that  day  when  together  they  had 
read  the  old  tale  of  Aucassin  and  Nicolete,  and  knew 
that  they  loved  with  a  love  that  was  even  mightier 
than  that  of  those  dear  prove^al  lovers  of  the  long  ago. 

Perhaps,  like  Aucassin  on  the  day  when  he  went 
into  battle,  he  was  dreaming  so  absorbingly  that  he 
lost  all  sense  of  relation  to  anything  about  him,  or  she 
had  come  so  softly  that  there  was  not  even  a  rustle  of 
her  garments  to  tell  of  her  approach.  He  only  knew 

509 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

that  suddenly  he  looked  up  and  she  was  there  beside 
him,  straight  and  beautiful  in  her  long  dark  cloak, 
and  with  the  light  of  an  eternal  devotion  shining  in  her 
eyes. 

For  one  long,  soul-speaking,  soul-embracing  instant 
each  looked  into  the  face  of  the  other,  and  then  silently 
he  reached  out  his  arms  to  her,  and  in  silence  she  came 
to  him.  A  moment  passed,  yet  neither  spoke,  nor 
stirred;  and  with  a  finer  communication  than  any 
speech,  spirit  answered  to  spirit  as  their  lips  met. 

From  the  house  there  came  the  music  of  harpists 
playing  softly.  She  raised  her  head. 

"  I  would  have  come  sooner,"  she  said,  just  as  if  all 
deeper  things  had  been  gone  over  between  them  and 
as  if  they  had  never  really  been  separated  for  even  a 
day,  *'  but  they,"  with  a  nod  toward  the  house,  "  were 
about  to  go  in  to  dinner,  and  for  a  few  moments  I  was 
needed.  Father  is  having  some  of  his  old  friends 
this  evening,  a  whole  host  of  them.  Dearest,  did  the 
time  seem  long  ?  " 

"  I  thought  you  would  never  come ! "  he  cried,  pas- 
sionately. 

"But  it  was  only  five  minutes." 

"  It  was  five  hours." 

All  at  once,  still  holding  her  close  to  him,  with  his 
left  hand  he  drew  her  face  nearer  and  looked  down 
deep  into  her  eyes.  A  sudden  rush  of  bitter,  torturing 

510 


THE   APRIL'S   IN   HER   EYES 

recollection  swept  him.  "  And  she  told  me  —  she 
told  me  that  you  were  married  —  you!  God,  how 
does  a  man  bear  some  things!" 

She  drew  back  in  actual  alarm. 

"  She  ?  —  Who  —  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  asked, 
wonderingly. 

"  Judith  Beverley." 

She  stood  watching  him,  aghast  at  the  hollow  misery 
that  had  all  at  once  leaped  into  his  eyes  at  the  bare 
mention  of  something  that  she  was  all  in  ignorance  of. 
For  a  moment  she  could  not  speak. 

"  What  did  Judith  tell  you  ?  "  she  inquired,  at  length, 
controlling  voice  and  manner,  and  seeking  to  calm 
him  by  her  own  quietude. 

"  She  told  me  that  you  were  married  in  New  York  to 
a  '  foreigner  with  a  title  and  a  most  unpronounceable 
name.'  Those  were  her  own  devilish  words." 

She  moved  a  step  or  two  away  from  him. 

"  And  you  believed  her  ?  "  she  asked,  coldly. 

"I  believed  her.  Only  a  fiend  would  have  been 
capable  of  inflicting  such  anguish.  I  did  not  doubt 
her." 

"But  you  doubted  me." 

"  Never.  I  knew  that  nothing,  nothing  on  this  earth, 
and  nothing  in  Heaven  or  Hell,  could  ever  separate  us." 

"  Yet  you  believed  what  Judith  told  you." 

He  was  silent,  and  she  said,  in  a  voice  that  had 
511 


THE    INVISIBLE   BOND 

grown  strangely  sad  and  listless,  "It  was  my  cousin, 
Sibyl  Fontaine,  who  was  married  in  New  York  to  the 
foreigner  with  the  title  and  the  most  unpronounceable 
name." 

He  started.  The  cruel  levity  on  Judith  Beverley's 
silly  features,  her  uncontrollable  mirth,  and  her  teasing 
innuendo,  how  plain  it  had  all  become  to  him!  He 
looked  quickly  into  Sibyl's  face.  Her  eyes  were  down- 
cast. With  a  sudden,  sharp  misgiving  he  held  out  his 
arms  again  to  her.  She  did  not  stir. 

"  Oh,  forgive  me ! "  he  cried.  "  You  can  never  know 
what  I  have  suffered." 

There  was  the  ring  of  a  wild  apprehension  in  his 
voice. 

She  slowly  turned  and  looked  at  him,  at  the  marks 
of  agony  traced  deep  upon  the  beloved  face,  and 
suddenly  her  heart  melted.  With  a  little  sigh  she 
came  back  to  him.  "Poor  dear!"  was  all  she  said, 
as  with  both  her  hands  she  drew  his  face  down  to 
her. 

How  ill  and  wretched  and  unnerved  he  was  she  had 
never  until  that  instant  fully  realized,  and  her  heart 
was  not  only  full  of  forgiveness  but  of  womanly  fears 
for  him.  Under  the  pretence  of  being  unwilling  to 
remain  longer  on  her  own  account  she  sought  to  bring 
him  hi  out  of  the  cold. 

"Come,  dear,  you  must  take  me  in  now,  else  you 

512 


THE   APRIL'S    IN   HER    EYES 

will  find  yourself  making  love  to  an  ice-maiden,  instead 
of  a  woman  of  flesh  and  blood." 

He  wrapped  her  cloak  closer  about  her,  and  as  he 
did  it  a  scene  came  before  his  eyes,  and  he  saw  her 
standing  in  the  door  of  the  Judge's  library  with  a  great 
spray  of  frozen  blossoms  in  her  hands,  her  lovely  face 
looking  forth  from  the  flowers,  sad  as  if  she  were  the 
very  goddess  of  spring,  sorrowing  for  all  her  little  dead 
children. 

"An  ice-maiden,  is  she?"  he  said,  quickly,  as  a 
sudden  thrill  of  passionate  possession  shook  him. 
"  But  '  the  April's  in  her  eyes,'  and  my  love  — "  he 
laughed  softly  —  "  my  love  is  warm." 

She  pressed  nearer  to  him.  "Say  the  rest  of  it," 
she  demanded,  with  a  catch  like  a  sob  in  her  voice. 

**I  can't;  I  don't  know  any  more." 

Once  more  she  drew  his  face  down  to  her,  and  he 
felt  her  tears  wetting  his  cheek. 

"'It  is  love's  spring,'"  she  quoted,  low  under  her 
breath.  And  even  as  she  spoke  she  felt  the  quick 
tightening  of  the  muscles  in  the  arm  that  held  her,  the 
sudden  joyful,  overleaping  response  with  which  his 
whole  being  awoke  to  the  meaning  of  her  words,  as 
simultaneously,  and  in  an  awed  silence,  they  turned 
and  together  started  up  the  narrow  path. 

THE   END 

513 


A     000132172     8 


